Hatakeyama Natsuki ((full)) [DIRECT]

Natsuki spun. A boy her age—seventeen, maybe—leaned against a dumpster. He wore an immaculate navy school uniform, not a single crease out of place. His eyes, however, were not human. They were polished obsidian, reflecting the alley’s single flickering light like two dark moons.

The humming stopped. In the silence, Natsuki heard something else: the distant, rhythmic crash of waves where no ocean should be. hatakeyama natsuki

It was the same sardine. The one she’d been trying to sell at the Tsukiji outer market before a rogue delivery truck had introduced her to the hood of a Honda. But the fish was wrong. Its scales shimmered with a deep, auroral blue, and when she tilted her head, she could hear a faint humming from inside its silver body. Natsuki spun

“You’re dead,” said a voice.

“It’s temporary,” the boy said. “Return the kuro-sardine to the Mirror Sea within three tides, and you can go back to your life. Fail, and the webbing will creep up your arms, over your chest, across your face. On the third sunrise, you’ll sprout gills and drown in the air.” His eyes, however, were not human

“Then I guess,” she said, stepping toward the sound, “you’d better come with me and make sure I don’t do anything stupid.”

For the first time, the boy’s obsidian eyes widened. A crack appeared in his perfect composure—something like surprise, or maybe fear.