VOLUME #4 - EPISODE 7
[CONTENT WARNING: MA17+]
[NARRATOR: Some gardens burn because of accidents. Some burn because of fate. And some burn because the universe decided that beauty was too fragile for someone who'd already lost everything. Today, we learn about Shinda Shokubutsu—the teenager who loved plants more than people because plants never left deliberately. Today, Pan's bakery becomes an unexpected bridge between agent and student, between destruction and growth, between giving up and trying one more time. Today, Riyura begins investigating Yakamira's impossible phone call while Hansamu tightens his grip on everyone's destiny. And today, Cartoon Headayami returns with his usual bossy perfection at exactly the right moment. Welcome to the garden that couldn't grow. Welcome to when ashes try to become soil.]
PART ONE: THE MORNING AFTER IMPOSSIBLE CALLS
Tuesday. Riyura hadn't slept. Couldn't sleep. Yakamira's voice kept echoing in his mind—impossible, dead, but unmistakably real. "Brother? I know this sounds—I know I'm supposed to be dead. But I need you to listen."
[RIYURA'S INTERNAL MONOLOGUE: Dead people don't make phone calls. Dead people don't sound worried about bloodlines and 1876 and things being wrong. Dead people stay dead. That's how death works. So either I'm having grief-induced hallucinations, or something about this entire situation is even more insane than government agents and psychic abilities and centuries-old bloodline legacies. Great. Fantastic. My life is a supernatural conspiracy now. At least I can make jokes about it before I lose my mind completely.]
He sat in the library before school started, laptop open, researching everything he could find about Jeremy High's founding. About 1876. About Hikari Shiko, Yami Hakizage, and Kage Poleheadedsandwich.
The historical records were sparse. Intentionally sparse. Like someone had carefully edited public information to remove anything significant. "You won't find it that way," a voice said.
Riyura looked up. Hansamu Yumi stood there, wearing his school uniform like royalty wearing common clothes—the cape he wore over his shoulders looked ridiculous on a high school student but somehow worked on him, making him seem older, more regal, more dangerous. His earrings caught the morning light—simple silver studs that Riyura now knew were his burden, his reminder that Principal Jeremy had abandoned him. He could tell, and Hansamu knew he could tell.
And in his hand—Riyura's red bow tie. The one Riyura had lost yesterday, must have dropped somewhere. Hansamu held it like a trophy. Like a symbol of control.
"That's mine," Riyura said carefully.
"Is it?" Hansamu examined the bow tie with theatrical interest. "Or is it just another performance prop? Another piece of the cheerful host costume you wore while drowning in grief? I've been studying you, Riyura Shiko. Reading reports. Watching videos. Learning everything about the kid who exposed corruption and killed his father and survived when his brother died."
He sat down across from Riyura, still holding the bow tie. "You're interesting. More interesting than I expected. Most descendants of the 1876 generation are either corrupted by their legacy or destroyed by it. But you—you're trying to be something else. Something genuine. That's—" He smiled. "—that's admirable. Futile. But admirable."
"Give me back my bow tie," Riyura said. "No." Hansamu pocketed it. "I think I'll keep it. As reminder. As metaphor. As symbol of my grip on your destiny in this journey."
"You don't have a grip on my destiny," Riyura replied. "You're just a bitter agent with abandonment issues and a vendetta against the person who raised you."
Hansamu's smile never wavered, but something dangerous flickered in his eyes. "Bitter. Yes. Agent with abandonment issues. Accurate. Vendetta against adoptive father. Absolutely. But you're wrong about one thing—I have complete grip on your destiny. Because I know things you don't. About Yakamira. About his death. About why he called you yesterday."
Riyura went very still. "How do you know about that?"
"Because," Hansamu said, leaning forward, "I'm the one who made it possible. I'm the one who's been orchestrating everything from shadows. The government investigation? My suggestion. The agent assignments? My selections. Even—" His smile widened. "—even Yakamira's ability to contact you from wherever he is. That's my doing too."
"That's impossible," Riyura whispered.
"Is it?" Hansamu pulled out his phone, showed Riyura a photo. A laboratory. Equipment. And in a containment chamber that looked like something from science fiction—a figure. Unconscious. Pale. But unmistakably alive.
Yakamira.
"He's not dead," Hansamu said simply. "He was never dead. Close to death, yes. Knife wound to the heart should have killed him. Would have killed normal person. But Yakamira wasn't normal. He's Shiko bloodline. He has the same latent abilities you have, even if he never activated them consciously. And those abilities—when faced with death—they kept him alive. Barely. In state of suspended animation that looks exactly like death."
Riyura couldn't breathe. "Where is he? Where are you keeping him?"
"Government facility," Hansamu replied. "Medical research division. They've been studying him for two months. Learning about the bloodline. About abilities. About what makes people like you different, after finding out my little secret with abilities and deciding to hide the stuff from the public. And I—" He pocketed his phone. "—I've been using their research to understand the 1876 generation. To understand what happened to them. To understand why Principal Jeremy is so terrified of history repeating."
"Why are you telling me this?" Riyura demanded, rage and hope and desperation mixing into something overwhelming.
"Because," Hansamu said, standing, "because you need to understand the stakes. You need to know that your brother's life—his actual, literal life—depends on what happens in the next week. If I get the truth I want from Principal Jeremy, if I learn what I need to know about 1876, if I'm satisfied—then maybe I arrange for Yakamira's release. Maybe you get your brother back."
He adjusted his cape with theatrical precision. "But if Jeremy refuses to tell me the truth, if this school continues protecting secrets that destroyed my life—then Yakamira stays in that facility. Becomes a permanent research subject. Spends the rest of his existence being studied by people who see him as a specimen instead of person."
"You're a monster," Riyura said.
"No," Hansamu corrected. "I'm a victim who became an agent who's using every tool available to get answers I deserve. There's a difference. Monsters don't warn you. I'm giving you one week. Make it count."
He walked away, leaving Riyura with impossible information and choices that shouldn't exist. Yakamira was alive. Being held by the government. Being used as leverage.
Everything—absolutely everything—had just become infinitely more complicated.
PART TWO: THE AGENT WHO TOUCHED PLANTS
That afternoon, Riyura was supposed to meet with his friends to plan their response to the agents. Instead, he found himself following Shinda Shokubutsu.
The sad-eyed agent had been wandering the school grounds all day, touching plants, muttering to them, looking progressively more distressed as he realized Jeremy High's garden was—
"Dying," Shinda said, not turning around but clearly aware Riyura was following him. "Your school's garden is dying. Neglected. Overgrown with weeds. Plants suffering from improper care. It's—" His voice broke. "—it's tragic. Beautiful things dying because nobody bothered to tend to them properly."
"We don't really have a gardening club," Riyura admitted, approaching carefully. "Most students are too busy with their own trauma to worry about plants."
"That's short-sighted," Shinda replied, finally turning to face him. His hands were covered in dirt—he'd been trying to fix things, Riyura realized. Trying to save plants that were already too far gone. "Plants are—plants are the only things that make sense. You give them water, sunlight, proper soil. They grow. They don't leave. They don't die unless you fail them. They're—they're reliable."
"Unlike people," Riyura said gently.
"Especially unlike people," Shinda confirmed. His sad eyes held too much grief for seventeen years. "People die in fires. People abandon you. People tell you the garden you promised to maintain will be destroyed anyway so there's no point in trying. Plants just—plants just need care. That's all. Just care."
Riyura sat on a nearby bench. "Tell me about your grandfather." Shinda's hands clenched in the dirt. "Why?"
"Because," Riyura said, "because I think you're here investigating a school but you're really just looking for a garden. Looking for something that won't burn. And I think—I think if you tell me about your grandfather, maybe we can help each other."
Shinda was quiet for long moment. Then, slowly, he sat beside Riyura.
"His name was Takeshi," Shinda began. "He taught me everything about plants. How to tend them. How to help them grow. How to see beauty in things other people dismissed as weeds. We worked in his garden every day. For years. It was—" His voice caught. "—it was the only place I felt safe. The only place where loss didn't follow me."
"Your parents?" Riyura asked carefully.
"Dead," Shinda confirmed flatly. "Car accident when I was eight. I barely remember them. Grandfather raised me after that. And the garden—the garden became everything. Became home. Became family. Became the thing that made existence bearable."
He pulled up a dying flower, examined it with professional sadness. "Then I was fourteen. Home alone studying. Grandfather was working in the garden. And—" His breath hitched. "—and something electrical shorted. Wiring in the old house. Fire started. Spread so fast. By the time I smelled smoke, by the time I ran outside—"
"The garden was burning," Riyura finished quietly.
"And Grandfather was trapped," Shinda continued, tears streaming down his face now. "Trapped inside the tool shed. Door jammed. Smoke inhalation before the flames even reached him. I tried—I tried to get to him but the fire was too intense. Firefighters arrived. Pulled me back. By the time they put it out—"
He couldn't finish. Didn't need to.
"The house was condemned," Shinda continued after collecting himself. "Garden destroyed beyond saving. Police told me I'd have to live with my grandmother in the city. That there was no point trying to maintain the property. That it would all be torn down anyway. That I should—" His voice turned bitter. "—that I should just let go. Move on. Accept that beautiful things don't last."
"But you couldn't," Riyura said.
"I couldn't," Shinda confirmed. "Because if I let go—if I accepted that the garden was just gone—then Grandfather was really dead. His work was meaningless. Everything we built together meant nothing. So I—" He held up his dirt-covered hands. "—I developed an ability. Unconsciously. Desperately. The contradiction of trying to grow things while drowning in grief of losing the only gardener who mattered."
He gestured at the dying plants around them. Green energy swirled around his fingers—subtle, beautiful, dangerous. "Plant manipulation. I can make things grow. Can accelerate growth, guide vines, create thorns from roses, poison from flowers. Can turn any garden into weapon or sanctuary depending on my intent."
"The government found out?" Riyura guessed.
"They noticed," Shinda said. "Noticed flowers blooming around me out of season. Noticed plants responding to my emotions. Recruited me young. Trained me. Made me into an agent who uses plants to gather intelligence. Made me useful." His laugh was broken. "Made me everything Grandfather wouldn't have wanted. Turned growth into a weapon. Turned beauty into a tool."
He looked at Riyura with desperate eyes. "I'm here investigating Jeremy High. Supposed to assess whether this school deserves to exist. Supposed to find evidence of environmental violations, improper land use, anything that justifies shutting you down. But I—" His voice broke again. "—I don't want to destroy another garden. Don't want to be the reason another beautiful thing dies because systems decided it was easier to eliminate problems than solve them."
"Then don't," Riyura said simply. "It's not that simple," Shinda replied. "I'm an agent. I have orders. I have—"
"You have choice," Riyura interrupted. "You can choose to be the person your grandfather raised. The person who sees beauty in things others dismiss. The person who tends gardens instead of destroying them."
He stood. "Come with me. I want to show you something."
PART THREE: THE BAKERY THAT GREW FROM ASHES
4:30 PM. Riyura brought Shinda to Pan's bakery. The small shop with a hand-painted sign, warm light spilling through windows, the smell of fresh bread making the cold evening air feel welcoming.
Pan was behind the counter, working with the same exhausted efficiency Riyura had seen before. He looked up when they entered, recognized Riyura, nodded greeting.
"Bread kid," Pan said. "And—" He studied Shinda with baker's assessment. "—someone who looks like they need feeding. Sit. I'll get you something." "This is Shinda," Riyura introduced. "He's—he's having a hard time. I thought maybe your bread might help."
Pan understood without needing explanation. Grief recognized grief. He disappeared into the back, returned with fresh sourdough still warm from the oven.
Shinda took a bite and something in his expression cracked. "This is—this tastes like—"
"Like grief disguised as comfort," Pan finished. "Like someone took loss and kneaded it into something that nourishes anyway. Yeah. That's what I make. That's all I know how to make anymore."
"Your parents?" Shinda asked carefully.
"Dead three years," Pan confirmed. "This was their bakery. Their dream. They built it from nothing. Then died in a car accident on the way home from a supplier meeting. Left me at fourteen with a choice: let the dream die or learn to bake bread that tasted like their dreams."
He gestured around the small shop. "So I learned. Spent three years perfecting every recipe they taught me. Added my own. Made this place profitable enough to survive even with a fool running it. And I thought—" His voice caught. "—I thought if I just kept baking, kept their dream alive, then eventually the grief would ease."
"Did it?" Shinda whispered.
"No," Pan said honestly. "It just changed shape. Became bread-shaped. Became something I could knead instead of something baking me. But that's—that's better than drowning. Better than giving up. Better than letting the dream die because the dreamers died first."
Shinda was crying openly now, eating bread that tasted like shared loss, sitting in a bakery that proved beautiful things could grow from ashes if someone was stubborn enough to tend to them.
"My grandfather's garden burned," Shinda said. "Everything we built together. Gone. And I thought—I thought that meant beauty was temporary. That growing things was pointless because fire or death or systems always won eventually."
"Beauty is temporary," Pan agreed. "But that doesn't make it pointless. Makes it more valuable. Makes the choice to create it despite knowing it won't last—that makes it meaningful. Your grandfather knew that. That's why he taught you to garden. Not because plants last forever. But because growing things is how we fight against the things that burn."
He pulled out another loaf. "This bread will be gone by tomorrow. Eaten. Eaten. Forgotten. But today—right now—it's warm and nourishing and made with care. That's enough. That's always enough."
Shinda stayed at the bakery for hours. Talking to Pan about loss and gardens and bread and the stubborn refusal to let grief be the only thing they grew. And slowly—so slowly—his sad eyes held something other than just despair.
Hope. Small. Fragile. But present.
When they finally left, Shinda turned to Riyura. "I'm still an agent. Still have orders to investigate Jeremy High. Still part of a system trying to shut you down."
"I know," Riyura said.
"But I—" Shinda's voice shook. "I don't want to destroy another garden. Don't want to be the reason more beauty dies. So I'll—I'll investigate honestly. Report what I actually find instead of what Hansamu wants me to find. And maybe—maybe that'll be enough to prove your school deserves to exist."
"Thank you," Riyura said.
"Don't thank me yet," Shinda replied. "The others—Akuma, Gurōbu, Komedi—they're not like me. They're not looking for reasons to preserve. They're looking for reasons to destroy. And Hansamu—" He shivered. "—Hansamu is orchestrating everything. Using us. Using you. Using the entire situation to get what he wants from Principal Jeremy."
"I know," Riyura said. "He told me about Yakamira. About how my brother's alive." Shinda's eyes widened. "You know about that?" "You knew?" Riyura demanded.
"All the agents know," Shinda admitted. "That's why Komedi hates you so much—he thinks you let your brother almost die while his siblings actually died. That's why Hansamu chose us specifically. We all have losses that mirror your losses. We're supposed to be—" He struggled with words. "—we're supposed to be mirrors that show you your failures. That break your hope by proving you couldn't save people who mattered."
"That's twisted," Riyura said.
"That's Hansamu," Shinda corrected. "He's brilliant. Strategic. And absolutely consumed by need for answers his adoptive father won't provide. He'll burn down everything—including us—to get what he wants."
A car pulled up. Government vehicle. Driver gestured impatiently.
"I have to go," Shinda said. "They monitor us. Make sure we're doing our jobs. But Riyura—" He pulled out a small plant cutting, pressed it into Riyura's hand. "—this is from a flower that survived fire. That grew back after everything burned. Keep it. Remember that gardens can regrow. Even after—even after everything."
He got in the car and disappeared into evening traffic.
Riyura stood holding the plant cutting, feeling like he'd just made an ally who was also an enemy who was also just another broken person trying to figure out how to exist.
His phone buzzed. Text from unknown number. But he recognized the pattern now. Yakamira.
"Brother, I have found a way out of that stupid lab chamber, and I'm getting ready to find a way to head to you, I'm quite busy and held up at the moment. Hansamu is using me as leverage. Don't let him manipulate you. Don't make deals for my release. The truth about 1876 is more important than my survival. Find out what happened. Protect the school. I'll be okay. I'm always okay when you need me to be. And I'll be out soon after I'm done with personal buisness. —Y.S."
Riyura stared at the message, feeling grief and hope and rage mixing into something overwhelming. His brother. Alive. Being used. Still trying to protect him even while held captive.
Some things never changed.
EPILOGUE: THE RETURN THAT EVERYONE NEEDED
That evening. Riyura's apartment. The friend group gathered—including Jisatsu now, who'd become a permanent fixture despite his recent admission to destroying their lives by calling the government.
"So," Miyaka summarized. "Yakamira's alive. Shinda might be turning to our side. Hansamu is orchestrating everything. And we have one week to find out the truth about 1876 before everything explodes. That's—that's a lot."
"That's Tuesday," Riyura replied, and despite everything, he was smiling. Actually smiling. "At Jeremy High, that's basically a calm day. We haven't even had anyone eat unusual footwear yet."
"DON'T JINX IT!" Shoehead and Socksiku yelled simultaneously. The door burst open. A figure stood there—tall, rigid posture, student council president aura radiating authority and judgment in equal measure.
Cartoon Headayami.
"I LEAVE FOR THREE MONTHS," Headayami announced in his characteristic shouty precision, "and THIS is what happens? Government investigations? Secret agents? Someone tried to SHUT DOWN our school? This is UNACCEPTABLE! I demand EXPLANATIONS! I demand ORGANIZATIONAL CHARTS! I demand—"
He stopped, seeing everyone's exhausted faces.
"—I demand to help," he finished, voice softening slightly. "Because you're my friends. And friends don't let friends face institutional destruction alone. Even when those friends are chaotic disasters who make terrible decisions and somehow survive anyway."
"Headayami!" Miyaka launched herself at him, hugging fiercely. "You're back! We missed you! Things have been horrible! How's your health?"
"COVID recovery complete," Headayami reported. "Quarantine ended. Ready to resume my duties as student council president and professional organizer of this school's nonsense. Now—" He pulled out a notebook. "—someone explain everything. Chronologically. With citations. So I can create proper strategic response."
They explained. Everything. The corruption network exposure, Yakamira's death, the government announcement, the five agents, Hansamu's vendetta, the 1876 secrets, all of it.
Headayami listened with increasing incredulity. "This is—this is the most disorganized crisis response I've ever witnessed. You have NO documentation? NO strategic planning? NO proper organizational framework for facing institutional destruction?"
"We've been surviving," Subarashī said defensively.
"SURVIVING IS NOT A STRATEGY!" Headayami shouted. Then, more calmly: "But it's what you do best. So fine. We work with that. I'll provide structure. You provide chaos. Together we'll protect Jeremy High from people who don't understand that chaos, when it's chosen family, is worth preserving. Oh and Miyaka your silly face is to grossly bad. And Sotsuko... your face is still ugly. So fix it up by showing that uglyness in a mirror somtime. Because I still can't forgive you for your history with the Lettace Brain stuff I missed out on. Which would of been fun to judge everybodys life styles in that situation. Anyways... besides that randomness I'm known for that makes no sense. Now moving on."
He turned to Riyura. "And you. You have government agents using your brother as leverage. You need a rescue plan. Extraction strategy. Legal framework for—"
"I just need to find out the truth about 1876," Riyura interrupted. "Everything else—Yakamira's rescue, the school's survival, stopping Hansamu—all of it depends on learning what Principal Jeremy is hiding."
"Then we learn it," Headayami declared. "Together. With proper organization this time. With strategy. With—" His phone buzzed. He read the message and his expression shifted to something complicated.
"Komedi Kirā Shiko," Headayami said carefully. "He's—he's texted me. Says we need to talk. About our past. About why I know things about the Shiko family that Riyura doesn't. About why my connection to his family makes me—" He stopped. "—makes me potentially dangerous to this friend group."
Everyone stared. "You have history with Komedi?" Riyura asked. "With my nephew I didn't know existed?"
"Yes," Headayami admitted. "And it's—it's complicated. Connected to your family's legacy. Connected to why I'm the way I am. Connected to secrets I've been keeping because telling them would mean admitting I've been lying by omission for years."
"Then stop lying," Miyaka said firmly. "Tell us. Whatever it is. We're family. Family doesn't keep secrets that hurt each other." Headayami looked at them all—these broken, chaotic, wonderful people who'd become his found family despite his rigid need for control.
"Okay," he said finally. "I'll tell you. Everything. About Komedi. About the Shiko family legacy. About why I came to Jeremy High in the first place. But not tonight. Tomorrow. When I can organize my thoughts properly and present them with appropriate context and—"
"And when you're ready," Riyura finished with a bored voice. "We understand. Take your time. Just stop blabbering, you know this is serious, right. So moving on. CAUSE I'M HUNGRYYY!"
They sat together in Riyura's apartment, planning strategy, eating takeout, existing as a found family facing impossible odds. And somewhere across Tokyo, in a government facility, Yakamira was searching goverment files for information on stuff. After already beating up the workers and knocking them out in the meantime. And so he was facing his own battle. On how to face the threat himself.
While in his expensive apartment, Hansamu Yumi held Riyura's red bow tie and planned his next move, his cape draped over his shoulders like a king preparing for war, his earrings glinting in lamplight—burden and reminder and promise of vengeance all in one.
The Battle of Jeremy High had truly begun. And nobody—not Riyura, not the agents, not even Hansamu—was ready for what came next.
[NARRATOR: And so allies emerge from enemies. Shinda learns gardens can regrow. Pan shares bread that tastes like surviving. Headayami returns with organizational skills and hidden secrets. And Yakamira sends messages from captivity, still protecting his brother even while being used as a weapon against him. Next episode: Akuma Kodomo's demon child past revealed. Jimiko connects with the hollow assassin. And Hansamu begins revealing pieces of the 1876 truth—starting with how Hikari Shiko, Yami Hakizage, and Kage Poleheadedsandwich died. The investigation intensifies. History awakens. Stay with us.]
TO BE CONTINUED...