5 - Noble Son, Buy

Sometimes, she wondered what she was doing. Now was one such time.

Megumi Fuyo watched the fighters prepare for their intense battle in this fictional world made of quantum information, all the while consumed by a feeling of desolation. Would doing this really get her what she wanted?

Amesho had introduced her to these two players, Taker and Sorceress, and she had spilled her heart out to them. Taker hadn’t said much, and Sorceress had just muttered, “How selfish of him,” but they had both promised to help her.

It was said that to be judged on one’s talent was a cruel thing. Megumi was a person fortunate enough to have talent — not only that, she also had the opportunities to put it to use.

She was the daughter of the owner of one of Japan’s largest companies, and had been given the best upbringing imaginable. A true princess in an ivory tower. Her father Eikei had had her at quite a late age, so he had been quite overprotective of Megumi growing up. At the all-girls’ private school she’d attended, she had attracted her own little clique to help shore her up, but her world had remained a small one, and she had had little contact with that which lay outside of it.

Fashion was one of the very few things that connected her to a world outside of her household. The fact that she was a high-society woman nearing marriageable age had helped her to convince her father that this was something worth taking an interest in; after all, she had to pay attention to her appearance. Though her school had been an expensive private one, attendees there had come from all walks of life, and a surprising number of members of her clique were from middle-class households. They’d showed her fashion magazines that depicted a world so bright and beautiful that she’d longed to be a part of it.

The years had passed, and around the time she’d graduated high school on the Home Economics track, her clique had been talking about their future plans. Megumi had had her pre-determined future, but when she’d seen her clique speaking to each other about their dreams, she hadn’t been able to help but feel something lacking in her own.

It was then that she had met Ichiro Tsuwabuki.

It was ten years ago; he would have been thirteen years old. He had graduated from college in America, and had just returned to Japan after spending some time overseas.

“A pleasure to meet you, Megumi,” the boy said.

She had just come back from shopping with her clique, and he was there in her living room, speaking to her father. He still had much of the appearance of youth, and the innocence unique to that age, but none of that penetrated her mind. Despite being five years older, Megumi found him somewhat intimidating.

“That’s good clothing you’re wearing,” Ichiro said, with the same cool smile he would continue to possess for years into the future.

Megumi knitted her brow. “Is it?”

Megumi was very interested in fashion, and she chose anything she thought looked good when she went shopping, rather than sticking to brand name items. What she was wearing right now was actually a rather cheap ensemble for a daughter of the Fuyo family. She had picked it out herself, and she felt that it was good clothing. But that didn’t change the fact that it had been cheap. Megumi, assuming that he was just trying to flatter her, did not respond.

That was the beginning and end of their first meeting.

Their second meeting was soon after, at a party her father was throwing. Megumi had attended wearing an uncontroversial dress, and all the young industrialists present had praised her fashion sense.

By the time she was tired of dealing with them, she spotted Ichiro making small talk with her father. The boy cast a glance at Megumi and said:

“Hello, Megumi. I see you’re going for something different in your clothing choice this time.”

For the first time, Megumi wondered if he really could tell the difference.

“Which do you prefer, Ichiro?” The question floated naturally to her lips. It was an improper thing to ask, for Megumi was pinning all her hopes on his reply. She wanted to have her taste acknowledged. Fashion was her one link to the outside world, and she had a sort of lack of confidence in herself distinct to princesses in ivory towers.

But Ichiro’s response was not what she had hoped for.

“It’s not my place to say,” he said.

“R-Really?” Megumi slumped slightly.

“But I think that you preferred the one you wore last time,” he said. “Right?”

At that, Megumi looked up, silently, her slumped posture righting.

Ichiro’s comportment had a coolness about it that belied his mere thirteen years of age. He had one hand slipped into his pocket, holding his glass in his other. His striking blue eyes seemed to see the truth behind everything they looked at.