A Firefly's Glow

Chapter Fifteen: Part Four

The boy called Keitaru Hanabusa was sprawled across his bed with his arms bent beneath his head. He stared at the ceiling with his once neatly brushed hair loosely hanging over his forehead in thick bundles.

He was aware that he didn’t have the lights in his room on. It was so dark that he couldn’t tell how far away the ceiling was from where he was lying. He knew it must have been around the evening, when the sun was just halfway underneath the horizon. But his curtains—thick and dark and opaque—were closed over his wide windows.

He knew he had homework to do that he hasn’t finished yet, but he would rather lie on his bed without any thoughts of what he had to think about. He wanted to drift asleep, but he knew that dinner would be prepared soon and he had to stay awake for it.

What sat over his shoulders was the thin, collared, long sleeved shirt that he had to wear beneath his school uniform. The cuffs of his sleeves were still neatly folded, but he had unbuttoned the first couple of buttons beneath his collar. When he was alone in his room, he didn’t care for the perfect neatness that he had to present to others.

He closed his eyes. He was still thinking about the utter confusion that he had given himself earlier that day as they had driven away from the Orange Café.

Not too long ago, a glass was tipped over and water had spilt onto him, leaving him with wet clothes that looked very much like he had “went in his pants”. The main suspect was his companion that sat beside him that evening.

He didn’t see how a spilt glass of water should give him all this thought, but he was curious to know how the red-headed girl companion that sat beside him had knocked over that glass.

He knew that if a glass was tipped over, it was much easier to tip it over with the top half of the glass first. He learned that the glass fellow over stem-first. And knocking over a full glass by the stem was a lot harder and a lot more noticeable.

It was interesting how she could have knocked it over and have had the result of the stem facing away from her once it was spilt.

But it would have been easier to tip the glass over this way if the girl had sat on the opposite side of the table.

His eyes opened as this thought ran through his head. How was it possible to knock a glass over in such way without seeming noticeable?

“Hanabusa-sama?” a voice questioned from the other side of his bedroom door.

“What is it?” he murmured, still glancing at the ceiling of his room.

“Dinner is almost prepared. Would you like to come to the dining room?”

He immediately slipped off of his bead and towards the door. “Yes, I would.”

He knew his hair still hung over his forehead in messy layers, and he knew the first couple of buttons of his shirt were still unbuttoned, but he couldn’t care less. He followed his chauffeur, Megane, through the hallways and down the stairs.

He always trained himself not to hurry when he was in a rush for something. This way, he would avoid tripping on his own two feet and injuring himself. But that evening, he hurried to the dining room as fast as he could, and Megane had to begin jogging to catch up to him.

He needed to witness the dinner table himself. He needed to see how it was possible for a glass to nonchalantly be tipped the way it was the night before.

And he knew that the dinner table followed the same routine every single night, with the glasses and plates and dishes and napkins placed in the same places—regardless of what dish was being served.

When he entered the dining room, he was introduced by the array of chauffeurs and maids that were lined on either side of the room.

He noticed that not all of the chauffeurs and maids were in place yet. There were gaps in the straight array that the present servants made.

He also noticed that there were some maids still wandering from door to door, still lying the plates onto the table.

He had arrived to dinner early that night.

“Good evening, Hanabusa-sama,” he witnessed his chauffeurs and maids pausing what they were doing. He gave them a firm nod as they bowed their heads in respect.

He slowly approached the table. It seems that they had gotten used to the red-headed girl sitting beside him during dinner, because her seat was placed neatly near his.

He saw that the glasses were already placed on the table, and he eyed the glass that stood nearest to her seat. He paused when he noticed it and he narrowed his eyes curiously.

“Hanabusa-sama, may I ask what you are—“ Megane began, but Keita interrupted him with a hissed “Shh!”

He studied the glass’ thin stem. He had been correct how it was hard to tip a glass over by its stem by accident.

He took a few steps closer, more towards his left. He wanted a better look. He was no physicist, but he knew that no one could knock over a glass the way it had knocked over if they were sitting in that particular seat on accident.

He silently noted that that red-headed girl might find some clumsy way to knock a glass over that way on accident, but he didn’t think that she was capable of making it unnoticeable.

But when he crept over towards his left as he kept his eye on the glass, his eyes widened when he witnessed the glass yanked by its stem towards him—completely knocking it off balance and landing it on its side. A faint clatter sounded throughout the room, and the dim chatters of the other people scattering through the room immediately silenced.

Keita froze in place. Did he have some sort of magical power of the force? How on earth did the glass tip over by itself?

He blinked his eyes to see if what he was witnessing was an illusion, but he noticed that it was not. He knew that no one else was standing as close to the table as he was.

He dared to take a few more steps to his left, and as he did, the glass seemed to drag towards him.

It dragged towards him stem-first

“Um, Hanabusa-sama—“ Megane’s voice nervously began.

Keita knew that the people in the room watching the glass drag after him probably thought he was some kind of crazy wizard. But he did not wish to try and explain what was happening.

Instead, he then again interrupted Megane with another hissed “Shh!”

It was then that Keita saw a small glint in the middle of the air in between his eyes and the glass’ stem. He lifted his fingers to the glint, tracing it with his fingertips.

He did not know what this was, but it looked a lot like thread.

“What . . .” was what murmured from his lips as he followed the thread with his gaze. When he had to crane his head over his shoulders in order to keep following the thread, he paused when he saw what the thread led to.

Or rather—he paused when he saw who the thread led to.

The first thing he saw was a fist that he knew was clutching onto the thread. His gaze trailed from the fist to the face of the person who owned that fist.

He recognized her well, and he uttered a small whisper in response to what he saw.

“Kasumi.”