A loud, continuous beeping noise startles all the workers in the lab. Hayashi, their boss, a middle-aged bookish man with thin limbs and a slightly hooked nose, reaches out in his seat and clamps down on the alarm.
"Lunch time."
The relief is palpable. Everyone gathers their things and exits the lab in an orderly line. Tsumugu is the last to leave. He holds no paper bag or container; instead, he has a worn leather notebook and a tiny stub of a wooden pencil.
"Kihara, you workaholic," one of his co-workers jeers. Tsumugu doesn't reply, doesn't show that he pays any notice to the small sniggers and exaggerated sighs. He marches out of the grimy, monotonous cafeteria.
Only when he can breathe the gray fumes of the factory outside does he completely relax. He finds a rotting tree stump, the last vestige of what was once a beautiful village by the sea, and sits down on the pavement against it. He closes his eyes. He pretends that the stump is a magnificent oak. The crash of the waves he hears in the distance belongs to an ocean neither acidic nor toxic. No, the ocean is much grander than that: it holds more life forms in the palm of his hand than in the entirety of the sterile factory; the colors of the fish in the sea outshine the mayor's finest jewels; the small city in the sea thrives and glimmers.
Not anymore, of course. But, at least in his dreams, it does.
It's much smoggier than usual today. Tsumugu wheezes and coughs into his gray uniform sleeve. He presses the starchy fabric to his nose with one hand as he flips the pages of his notebook with the other.
Tsumugu tries not to breathe too deeply as he sketches the image of his imagined sea village on a fresh page. Even though the weather is terrible outside, he'd rather have lung cancer from overexposure to toxic fumes than stay another minute in an over-sanitized factory with subhuman co-workers and bright white strobe lights.
When the lunch break is over, he returns to the lab and continues his work. The greasy, nauseating stench of blended meat permeates the room. Tsumugu doesn't know which smell he hates more – his co-workers' breaths or the burning fumes outside.
When an alarm signals the end of the work day, Tsumugu folds his lab coat neatly, tucks it into his assigned cubby, and leaves without another word.
The small, deteriorating house he shares with his grandfather stands on a cliff by the sea. Tsumugu makes sure he wears his protective acid-resistant raincoat before he steps out of his car. Even with the coat, the sea spray stings his skin. He glances at the sky; there's a hurricane approaching. He quickly gathers tarp from the storage shed and hammers it down over his grandfather's small garden. By the time he enters the house, his skin is inflamed and bares tiny red bumps.
"Take a bath," his grandfather says from the kitchen. "I've prepared it."
Tsumugu complies. The clean water soothes his skin. By the time he's clean and dinner is ready, the red welts have mostly healed.
When he steps into the living room, he's greeted with a shock of purple hair.
"Oh!" it squeaks. "I'm sorry."
Tsumugu glances down. The purple hair belongs to a girl.
"Who are you?"
"I'm Hiradaira Chisaki. It's nice to meet you."
Tsumugu decides she's not trustworthy.
"Grandfather, who's this?"
"I found her lying outside our house this afternoon. She says she's from Shioshishio."
"The sea village? The one that went silent hundreds of years ago, after a disastrous oil spill killed most of the fish and coral? That sea village?"
"I was skeptical too. She'll explain it to you. For now, take a seat."
He reluctantly sits down and peers into his bowl of synthetic rice as he listens to the purple-haired girl and occasionally glances at his grandfather. Tsumugu can tell the old man trusts her from the lack of suspicious concern on his face. Not that that should mean much, really. His grandfather always has that expression, so it's hard to tell sometimes.
"It was the sea god," she says, and her eyes turn foggy as she recounts her memories. Tsumugu notices that her eyes are the same color of what he always imagined the sea to be: a light, clear, brilliant blue. "He's been dormant for centuries, but he's stirring from his sleep, and as a result, our village is waking up too."
"I thought the village has been dead for centuries. Ever since the waters became too toxic to live in."
Chisaki smiles wryly. "Not dead. Nearly, though. We've been hibernating."
"How can you breathe in those waters?"
"Before hibernation, the sea god cast a protective bubble of sorts around Shioshishio. It's kept the contaminated water from mixing with clean water. To tell you the truth, I'm not entirely sure how it works either, but I'm alive and that's testament to the sea god's powers."
"I… see." Tsumugu can't keep the skepticism out of his voice.
A sea god? Really? This is the twenty-third century. Does she expect him to believe in deities?
What god lets a world fall apart like this?
"Anyway, over the next few weeks, most of us will be coming up. When I left the protective bubble to see the outside world, I couldn't believe how much garbage I was breathing in. By the time I made it to the nearest building, I passed out, but I'm okay now, thanks to your grandfather."
"Mm," says Tsumugu disbelievingly. He shares a look with his grandfather.
Do you actually believe her?
His grandfather glares. Of course. Don't be rude.
Tsumugu stifles a sigh. "I'm assuming you'll be staying for the night?"
"If that's alright with you," she says, and she sounds uncertain. She can see the hostility in Tsumugu's gray eyes. She adds quickly, "But it's alright if you say no. I don't want to intrude."
"You won't be intruding," says Tsumugu's grandfather with a tone that nearly growls in finality. Tsumugu knows better than to argue and reluctantly gives a nod of assent. Hiradaira's face lights up. To his own surprise, Tsumugu's heart stutters. Her smile is so unnaturally genuine, so perfectly flawed, so unlike the modified faces of many of the girls in his village, that seeing such an honest face expression bewilders him.
"Thank you!" she says, and she gives a small bow of her head.
"Finish your dinner," says Tsumugu with a sigh that he doesn't bother to hide this time.
And throughout the meal, he notices her little mannerisms – the slight slouch in her spine as she eats, the tiny tip of her head to the left as she thinks, the piece of rice sticking to her lower lip left unnoticed – and begins to see that she's definitely not from the area, where precise, mechanical movements are ingrained into habit at an early age. Then, perhaps, she was telling the truth?
Little does Tsumugu know, life in the monotonous, factory-run village by the sea is about to get a lot more interesting.
A loud, continuous beeping noise startles all the workers in the lab. Hayashi, their boss, a middle-aged bookish man with thin limbs and a slightly hooked nose, reaches out in his seat and clamps down on the alarm.
"Lunch time."
The relief is palpable. Everyone gathers their things and exits the lab in an orderly line. Tsumugu is the last to leave. He holds no paper bag or container; instead, he has a worn leather notebook and a tiny stub of a wooden pencil.
"Kihara, you workaholic," one of his co-workers jeers. Tsumugu doesn't reply, doesn't show that he pays any notice to the small sniggers and exaggerated sighs. He marches out of the grimy, monotonous cafeteria.
Only when he can breathe the gray fumes of the factory outside does he completely relax. He finds a rotting tree stump, the last vestige of what was once a beautiful village by the sea, and sits down on the pavement against it. He closes his eyes. He pretends that the stump is a magnificent oak. The crash of the waves he hears in the distance belongs to an ocean neither acidic nor toxic. No, the ocean is much grander than that: it holds more life forms in the palm of his hand than in the entirety of the sterile factory; the colors of the fish in the sea outshine the mayor's finest jewels; the small city in the sea thrives and glimmers.
Not anymore, of course. But, at least in his dreams, it does.
It's much smoggier than usual today. Tsumugu wheezes and coughs into his gray uniform sleeve. He presses the starchy fabric to his nose with one hand as he flips the pages of his notebook with the other.
Tsumugu tries not to breathe too deeply as he sketches the image of his imagined sea village on a fresh page. Even though the weather is terrible outside, he'd rather have lung cancer from overexposure to toxic fumes than stay another minute in an over-sanitized factory with subhuman co-workers and bright white strobe lights.
When the lunch break is over, he returns to the lab and continues his work. The greasy, nauseating stench of blended meat permeates the room. Tsumugu doesn't know which smell he hates more – his co-workers' breaths or the burning fumes outside.
When an alarm signals the end of the work day, Tsumugu folds his lab coat neatly, tucks it into his assigned cubby, and leaves without another word.
The small, deteriorating house he shares with his grandfather stands on a cliff by the sea. Tsumugu makes sure he wears his protective acid-resistant raincoat before he steps out of his car. Even with the coat, the sea spray stings his skin. He glances at the sky; there's a hurricane approaching. He quickly gathers tarp from the storage shed and hammers it down over his grandfather's small garden. By the time he enters the house, his skin is inflamed and bares tiny red bumps.
"Take a bath," his grandfather says from the kitchen. "I've prepared it."
Tsumugu complies. The clean water soothes his skin. By the time he's clean and dinner is ready, the red welts have mostly healed.
When he steps into the living room, he's greeted with a shock of purple hair.
"Oh!" it squeaks. "I'm sorry."
Tsumugu glances down. The purple hair belongs to a girl.
"Who are you?"
"I'm Hiradaira Chisaki. It's nice to meet you."
Tsumugu decides she's not trustworthy.
"Grandfather, who's this?"
"I found her lying outside our house this afternoon. She says she's from Shioshishio."
"The sea village? The one that went silent hundreds of years ago, after a disastrous oil spill killed most of the fish and coral? That sea village?"
"I was skeptical too. She'll explain it to you. For now, take a seat."
He reluctantly sits down and peers into his bowl of synthetic rice as he listens to the purple-haired girl and occasionally glances at his grandfather. Tsumugu can tell the old man trusts her from the lack of suspicious concern on his face. Not that that should mean much, really. His grandfather always has that expression, so it's hard to tell sometimes.
"It was the sea god," she says, and her eyes turn foggy as she recounts her memories. Tsumugu notices that her eyes are the same color of what he always imagined the sea to be: a light, clear, brilliant blue. "He's been dormant for centuries, but he's stirring from his sleep, and as a result, our village is waking up too."
"I thought the village has been dead for centuries. Ever since the waters became too toxic to live in."
Chisaki smiles wryly. "Not dead. Nearly, though. We've been hibernating."
"How can you breathe in those waters?"
"Before hibernation, the sea god cast a protective bubble of sorts around Shioshishio. It's kept the contaminated water from mixing with clean water. To tell you the truth, I'm not entirely sure how it works either, but I'm alive and that's testament to the sea god's powers."
"I… see." Tsumugu can't keep the skepticism out of his voice.
A sea god? Really? This is the twenty-third century. Does she expect him to believe in deities?
What god lets a world fall apart like this?
"Anyway, over the next few weeks, most of us will be coming up. When I left the protective bubble to see the outside world, I couldn't believe how much garbage I was breathing in. By the time I made it to the nearest building, I passed out, but I'm okay now, thanks to your grandfather."
"Mm," says Tsumugu disbelievingly. He shares a look with his grandfather.
Do you actually believe her?
His grandfather glares. Of course. Don't be rude.
Tsumugu stifles a sigh. "I'm assuming you'll be staying for the night?"
"If that's alright with you," she says, and she sounds uncertain. She can see the hostility in Tsumugu's gray eyes. She adds quickly, "But it's alright if you say no. I don't want to intrude."
"You won't be intruding," says Tsumugu's grandfather with a tone that nearly growls in finality. Tsumugu knows better than to argue and reluctantly gives a nod of assent. Hiradaira's face lights up. To his own surprise, Tsumugu's heart stutters. Her smile is so unnaturally genuine, so perfectly flawed, so unlike the modified faces of many of the girls in his village, that seeing such an honest face expression bewilders him.
"Thank you!" she says, and she gives a small bow of her head.
"Finish your dinner," says Tsumugu with a sigh that he doesn't bother to hide this time.
And throughout the meal, he notices her little mannerisms – the slight slouch in her spine as she eats, the tiny tip of her head to the left as she thinks, the piece of rice sticking to her lower lip left unnoticed – and begins to see that she's definitely not from the area, where precise, mechanical movements are ingrained into habit at an early age. Then, perhaps, she was telling the truth?
Little does Tsumugu know, life in the monotonous, factory-run village by the sea is about to get a lot more interesting.
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