Hatakeyama Natsuki | |verified|

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. 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. hatakeyama natsuki

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

“And who exactly are you?” Natsuki asked. Its scales shimmered with a deep, auroral blue,

“You’re dead,” said a voice.

He bowed, stiff and precise. “Hatakeyama Natsuki.”