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aranarumei · 1 year ago

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the anomalous agate (part two)

now: here's what some of you actually wanted to see yesterday.

a quick rundown for anyone who has no idea what this is: here's ch 1 on tumblr and ao3. I posted an updated version of ch 1 yesterday that flows a bit nicer, and recommend checking that out if you haven't already.

and, while it's even less necessary to do, consider checking this post out, too. the context in which it was written is kind of... irrelevant to this fic, honestly, but it provides a bit of background that I think enhances some of what's going on in this chapter and the next one (that I haven't written yet).

with that out of the way, this chapter is over 7k, so here's the ao3 link if you prefer. (there's also a bit of a longer author's note there at the end) if you'd like to stick to tumblr, follow me under the cut.

edit: part three

case 2-x: the anomalous agate (part two)

Even the usually oblivious Tanimoto-san noticed my listless mood in the following days. It wasn’t unusual for me to worry or speculate about my clients—everyone who stepped into Richard’s store certainly had some kind of interesting quality, but something about Hanzawa tugged oddly at my chest.

To complicate matters, I was pretty sure I wasn’t the only one feeling that way. Richard had spent Sunday carrying on as usual, but every once in a while, he’d drift into his thoughts and his brows would furrow like something was bothering him. This wasn’t a trait unique to Hanzawa’s presence, but this was possibly the first time I’d seen Richard look genuinely unsettled instead of troubled.

It wasn’t an expression I liked seeing on his face.

“Seigi-kun, you seem deep in thought,” Tanimoto-san said. “Something on your mind?”

Class had ended. I flipped aimlessly through the pages of the book on gemstones I’d borrowed from Richard before tucking it into my bag. Somehow, I didn’t quite feel as if I could meet her eyes. “You mentioned there were many gems that did heat treatment, right?” I asked as we began to shuffle out of the classroom.

She responded with less cheer than usual, and I felt dejected to be the cause. “Oh, yes… not just corundum,” she said. “Beryl and quartz, too. That encompasses a large quantity of jewels which are just named as different forms of these materials, really… heat treatment is used often to change their color. Apart from deepening the red of a ruby, there’s aquamarine—a type of beryl—which is most commonly green-blue. Heat treatment tends to enhance the blue color and really give it that expected ‘aqua’ color. One of the most dramatic transformations, to me, is amethyst—it can turn a deep orange when it’s treated with heat.”

“Ah—I saw that last weekend,” I said. “It’s meant to mimic citrines, right?”

“Citrines tend to be a paler yellow, actually,” Tanimoto-san said. “But they’re rare—especially ones with a deep orange color. That’s why heat-treatment of amethysts is so common.” She sighed, gaze drifting off in space as we headed to her next class. “When we think of the term ‘citrus,’ the first thing that comes to mind is often an orange, despite the variety of citrus fruits in other colors. Sometimes I wonder if that’s the reason people mistake amethysts for citrine so easily.”

“It fits with their preconceived notions, huh?” I said, earning an approving nod from Tanimoto-san. “I still remember what you said before—about wanting to appreciate the stones as they were without heat treatment. I thought that was a really beautiful idea.”

She smiled. “I’m glad you think so, Seigi-kun,” she said. We came to a halt in front of her next classroom, but she didn’t go inside just yet. “But we’d talked about this already… is there something else you wanted to ask me?”

I swallowed around an uncomfortable bit of air. We were early for her class—it wasn’t a particularly long walk from classroom to classroom, but I liked spending time with her—but she usually went directly inside. It’s so nice of her to take time out of her day to worry about me, I thought. But again, I knew that I must have been really out of sorts for her to notice.

“It was just mentioned in passing,” I said at her prompting, “But… well, a client was discussing agate, and I heard that some of them were dyed. Is that a common process?”

Her expression immediately soured. For a minute I thought I’d stepped on some kind of conversational landmine, but though she looked unhappy, she spoke without malice. “It’s—not uncommon, no. Agate is porous, so it absorbs dye well, as do any stones like it.” I could see her turning over her words with care. “But… while heat treatment is an irreversible process, dyeing tends to be less effective. The color can fade over time, especially under sunlight, and it may not stain evenly. And depending on what dye is used, it can be removed with solvents like acetone… so it’s a process that’s much less certain.”

“So, they’re kind of fragile,” I observed, “even if they’re made to look nicer.”

“Well, they certainly look pretty—the bright colors can enhance how distinct the banding is, so you could argue the dye only enhances the best features of agate and other types of chalcedony, but…”

“…But?”

“Dyeing stones is really common for selling fakes,” she said. “And well—I just think that’s inexcusable, to conceal the truth like that. Even though dyed stones can be detected, that’s usually only after they’re sold, right? And this often happens with online purchases, so… I can’t help but feel resentful.” She frowned. “And every time I’ve traveled to see something related to rocks, the gift shop always carried those tumbled and dyed stones! It’s hard to find anything else…”

“That must be tough,” I said, though it was hard to suppress a smile at the thought of Tanimoto-san scowling in the middle of a gift shop. She usually seemed so magnanimous, and it was nice to see that she had her weak points, too.

She pouted. “I know it’s a petty reason, okay!” she said. A touch more melancholy, she added, “But every time I see them, I want to stand up and yell at everyone that rocks and minerals are more interesting than that, because it feels like these polished stones and other kinds of jewels are the only kind of beauty that people care about. For all kinds of rocks and minerals… I don’t think they possess a beauty that is just skin-deep. But when you limit the conversation to just rocks, because they look so different, the interests just don’t overlap…” She glanced up at me, seemed to realize that the type of person she was talking about was right next to her, and hurried to clarify. “Ah—I didn’t mean that as a strike against you though, Seigi-kun.”

“No, I totally understand,” I quickly reassured her. “I mean, in an ideal world, that’s how we want to think of other people, too, right? Without judging based on the outside alone. And I think anyone would want to share their interest with more people. So, if what you like is rarer, or unappreciated, it feels sad, right?”

“Right,” Tanimoto-san said. She smiled. “…I really am glad we get to talk about gemstones. I always feel like I end up hearing something interesting.”

Not for the first time, I thought that Tanimoto-san was some kind of angel. I truly didn’t have any questions about rocks to reciprocate with, except— “There’s a few rocks that do count as gemstones, right?” I asked. “Like lapis lazuli.”

“You remembered!” Tanimoto-san exclaimed. “Lapis lazuli’s a particularly special rock, you know,” she said, a gleam in her eyes. “Historically, it was used to make this very expensive blue paint…”

“Ah—ultramarine, right?”

“Exactly!” Tanimoto-san said, clapping her hands in excitement. “Seems like you’re already an expert on it, Seigi-kun.”

“I just heard it in passing,” I explained sheepishly. “That customer from before—he and my boss talked about ultramarine for a bit.” I paused to recollect the various times I’d spotted the stone in Jewelry Étranger. “Though, the stone looks so unbelievable to me on its own that it feels strange to think it would ever be used for paint…”

“It is one of the beauties of metamorphism,” Tanimoto-san agreed. Or at least, I was assuming she was.

“Sorry, but… what exactly is metamorphism again?” I asked. “I feel like I’ve heard the term before, and I just don’t remember.”

Despite the various expressions I’d put on her face today and in all the other conversations we’d had, this was the first time I’d ever seen Tanimoto-san look truly dumbfounded. It took me a while to even realize that was the expression on her face, until she cleared her throat and said, “I guess you said yourself you didn’t know much about rocks, but… well, I thought this was common knowledge, and maybe it… isn’t?” Worriedly, like she’d just learned she was privy to a secret for which she hadn’t voluntarily been made a confidant, she asked, “I mean, everyone knows that the three common classifications of rocks are sedimentary, igneous, and metamorphic, right?”

“…That rings a bell?” I said unconvincingly.

Her eyes flickered towards the classroom—she had only a few minutes before her next class started, so I imagined she would head inside, but instead she squared her shoulders, formed a distinctly “Golgo” look on her face, and said, “Well—metamorphic rocks are basically a type of rock that’s actually a combination of other rocks and minerals. So that’s how lapis lazuli has that beautiful gold coloring—it comes from the pyrite that’s part of the rock. The main blue comes from lazurite, but there’s many more mineral components that are mixed in with an average lapis lazuli.”

“And metamorphism is how these rocks form?”

“Right,” Tanimoto-san said. “Basically, they’re put under a lot of heat and pressure, and because of that, the composition of the rock ends up changing—so, for lapis lazuli, all these separate things fuse—or the crystal structure shifts, which is a kind of complicated thing to explain… But by the end, the new rock is distinct when compared to the simple sum of its parts. Something like marble or slate… you wouldn’t call simply a combination of other things, right?”

“I would never have known unless you told me… that’s amazing,” I marveled. “In a way… it’s kind of nature’s own heat treatment, huh?”

“That’s true,” Tanimoto-san said. “Just one without any motivation.”

This was something that had always fascinated me regarding jewels. Of course, it was untrue that they existed without human involvement. But before any human had laid eyes upon it, lapis lazuli had always been that brilliant combination of blue and gold. That, to me, was something like a miracle.

“You must have had an interesting customer this week, right?” Tanimoto-san guessed.

I shook myself out of my thoughts. “What?”

“Well, Seigi-kun, you’re always curious,” she said, “So maybe it’s nothing. But this time you look like you really want to say something to someone.” She tapped the space between her brows. “Don’t let it give you wrinkles, though!”

With that, she hurried into class, taking her seat just a few seconds before the professor began her lecture. I was left standing dumbly in the hallway, stuck with my swirling thoughts. Though I’d glossed over it at first, I supposed I was of the same mind as Tanimoto-san; dyeing stones felt more like concealment than enhancement. And then I remembered what I likely wasn’t meant to hear—surely that dyed agate is prettier—and reached up to my forehead.

Sure enough, I was frowning. I wanted to pull out my phone and text Richard something along the lines of This is your fault, but that would be truly nonsensical, and really, what I wanted wasn’t to assign something like blame. But since I couldn’t just run to him, I decided to follow Tanimoto-san’s advice and smooth out my expression.

———

“Ah… Nakata-san?”

Richard had said that most serendipitous encounters were just a natural consequence of learning more about the world, but I was pretty sure this situation was the exclusive work of strange fortune. Though I doubted this surprise encounter would go as badly as the last one had, the sharp sense of déjà vu kept me wary.

Still, I inhaled a breath of crisp morning air, and replied, “It’s alright to call me Seigi.”

I was looking up at the face of Hanzawa Masato, who truthfully had been the furthest thing from my mind in the past few days. That space in my brain had been usurped and summarily overwhelmed by the tedium of classes and assignments. If I had to learn how to draw another kind of economic model using another set of conditions and parameters, my head was going to burst. In fact, my head ached at the thought alone.

Now that we were face to face again, though, the rigamarole of university had all but disappeared from my mind, and I watched his face contort into an expression halfway between awkwardness and concern. The awkwardness was a given—I hadn’t expected to run into him either. Half the reason for his concern was a girl from my university who I’d just learned was called Kaede. And the other half of his concern—a quarter of his total expression—was in response to seeing me, who’d just been shoved into the side of a building.

Maybe that was the reason my head ached. It was certainly the reason I was sitting down and staring up at him.

“Are you okay?” Kaede fretted. She had sunk into a worried crouch in front of me, hands hovering around my head like she could divine the nature of my injuries.

I pressed a hand to my cheek, which was stinging, but didn’t feel scraped, and hauled myself upright. Any dizziness I’d felt had faded, and though one of my arms felt numb, I’d gotten worse injuries doing karate. “I’m fine,” I said. “It’s just a surface-level injury. Probably looks worse than it is. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine—not a scratch!” she reported, standing up to demonstrate her lack of injury. “I had no idea he would do that, though. I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t be,” I cut in before she could self-flagellate. “It’s not your fault at all.”

Were I feeling charitable, I’d point out that I didn’t think the guy in question had even meant to push me into a wall—he’d just meant to push me and bolt. But he was also the kind of asshole that cornered people against the side of a building, so I wasn’t going to defend him in the slightest.

“What happened?” Hanzawa asked.

I felt a little ill-at-ease seeing the sheer expressiveness on his face. Of course, it made sense that he’d be so frazzled, considering what had just happened to his friend, but it was uncomfortable to see his lack of composure. Like this, he looked like an ordinary, unremarkable teenager.

Kaede wrung her hands, stumbling through her words. “I—you know that senior who was bothering me? Well, he cornered me, and we started arguing, and then”—she gestured in my direction—“he hit him and ran away.”

“I heard shouting, so I came over here,” I added when Hanzawa looked to me for further explanation.

It was really as simple as that. After exiting a horrendously early class, I’d heard arguing near the shadowed side of the building. And once I’d seen Kaede telling the other guy to leave her alone, I’d intervened without hesitation. He’d started aggressively posturing at me before shoving me to the side and running away.

The sharp spike of adrenaline I’d felt at the time was now wearing off, and my injuries began to twinge. I took a deep breath, and in an effort not to dash after the guy, I suggested, “We should make a report or something.”

“Oh, right,” Kaede said, fishing out her phone. “There’s like… campus administration or something, right? Let me find out wherever it’s located.” She paused in thought. “Wait… do you two know each other?”

“We just met by coincidence once,” I said, figuring that Hanzawa would value his privacy.

It was enough of an answer for Kaede, who just laughed and said, “Masato-kun knows, like, everyone, so it’s not really a surprise!”

I was relieved to see that she didn’t seem too shaken by everything.

Soon enough, we were pointed the way of campus authorities, and I learned the full story while Kaede made her report. Apparently, this guy had been bothering her for a while after they’d met at a mixer—he’d seen her waiting to meet up with Hanzawa, and then blown up at her when she declined to spend time with him. Since he already had quite a few conduct violations on his record, the administration assured us that they’d act quickly.

Their urgency might have also been prompted by the blatant injury on my face. Every time someone turned to face me, they would reflexively wince at the circle of reddened skin on my cheek. I’d seen it in a mirror while getting my injuries checked out—I was officially deemed concussion-free, which was a relief—and had flinched at my own reflection in surprise.

Amidst the commotion, Hanzawa stayed level-headed, guiding Kaede through the motions of making a report. Even though he wasn’t a student at my university—a fact which was strangely relieving to confirm—it was like he’d gone through this process before. I thought he’d escort Kaede home, too, but once everything had been squared away, she called some of her university friends to pick her up. They arrived with a slew of inventive insults that seemed to cheer Kaede up in an instant. She thanked me again as we swapped numbers, and then she waved us goodbye as she was whisked away by her friends.

“You’re not going with her?” I asked.

“Her other friends will be much better at taking her mind off things,” he said. “Besides, they all go to your university, so they can accompany her during classes.” He turned to face me as he spoke, and though he didn’t wince, his gaze lingered on my cheek.

“I’m alright,” I said. “I even got an ice pack when we were making the report.”

“Still…” Hanzawa said. Hesitantly, he asked, “Could I treat you to lunch? Or a coffee?”

The sun was high in the sky. On one hand, I wasn’t particularly hungry, but coffee sounded nice, and I didn’t have classes until later this evening. On the other hand, Hanzawa looked like he was already regretting the offer.

But Tanimoto-san was right; I had a few things I wanted to say to him. And despite his hesitation, it looked like Hanzawa felt the same.

“Sure,” I said. “You can pick the place.”

———

Hanzawa’s coffee order was a little more complicated than mine. Hearing him rattle off his order made me realize that Richard was right to only offer tea at his shop. The café he’d picked out was like many of the other cafés I’d been to—peaceful, atmospheric, and a neutral ground for conversations. Once we’d taken our seats, we each waited in a brittle kind of silence.

Hanzawa began to fiddle with his phone, and I took it as a clear indication he wasn’t ready to talk. My coffee arrived first, so I savored it while gazing through one of the café windows. Outside, the weather had snapped into a bitter frost, as it seemed wont to do whenever I wasn’t looking. I shivered a little—even inside the temperature-regulated café, I’d dressed a little lightly for the cold—and let the coffee’s steam curl against my skin. Though I couldn’t call myself a connoisseur, I’d begun to appreciate coffee for more than its caffeine.

It was just one more thing I’d learned how to treasure since I’d met Richard. Thinking of him, I reflexively touched my face. We weren’t anywhere near Ginza, but I could imagine the shop’s entrance in front of me as I stared out the window.

“Is there something you’re worried about?”

I started, noting that Hanzawa’s coffee had appeared between his hands. He held the cup strangely, his fingers curled around the sides without any pressure; I worried that it might slip from his fingers if he tried to lift it. Still, the pose seemed so natural for him that I wondered if he’d held the tea at Jewelry Étranger the same way, and I just hadn’t noticed. Like that time, any initial hesitation of his had melted away into a self-assured grace.

“I was just thinking…” I replied, tapping my reddened skin, “it’s going to bruise.”

“Ah,” Hanzawa said. His eyes darted around the room—he could probably sense the curious looks I’d gotten, too, but that wasn’t my main concern. “You’re worried about your weekend work, I assume?”

“No, it’s—actually, yeah, I am,” I said, cutting off my instinctive denial. First Tanimoto-san, and now Hanzawa… I wondered if my face was just becoming easier to read.

“I doubt a bruised face is good for customer service,” he added, clarifying exactly where my thoughts had headed.

I explained, “I’d rather not scare the customers, and it’s something I’ve done even without my face like this, so…”

“That would be troubling,” Hanzawa said. “I’d apologize for the situation, but…”

“There’s no need for apologies,” I stressed. “You and Kaede already thanked me, and there’s no need to apologize for someone else’s mistakes.”

Still holding the cup as if it were air, Hanzawa slowly sipped his coffee. My attention was drawn to his fingers, which were exceptionally long, and neatly trimmed at the nails. “I’m glad you think so, Seigi—it’s alright to call you that, yes?” When I nodded, he set his cup down and made a confession: “I’m not entirely without ulterior motives, though—it’s not every day you meet someone with your job, you know? I like hearing from interesting people, so this is just me indulging in my curiosity, really. What was the application process like?”

“Ah… I didn’t quite apply,” I answered. Maybe I’d just developed a streak of cynicism, but I didn’t believe that he had invited me to coffee out of pure curiosity. I briefly imagined someone taking my place—making tea, talking with Richard, and learning about our clients—and felt a wave a jealousy so strong that I added, “I don’t really think he’s looking to hire anyone new…”

Hanzawa laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m just asking out of curiosity. I’m not looking for a job right now.”

“Ah,” I said, and drank some of my coffee to cover my embarrassment. “Anyways, even when we first met, I don’t think he was looking to hire anyone.”

“Is that so?” Hanzawa asked, a clear prompt for me elaborate.

I had no desire to do so. Instead, I was distracted by the thought of Hanzawa as an employee of Jewelry Étranger. He seemed like he would excel at any job related to customer service, particularly when it came to making conversation. Even now, though I was conscious of the fact that he was leading the conversation, it didn’t bother me. But he wouldn’t know what sweets Richard liked best, or how to watch his expressions to figure out if he was enjoying them. And he wouldn’t know how to brew royal milk tea—not that I’d known that, either…

“I approached him about a family heirloom of mine, and he offered me a job afterwards,” I finally summed up.

Thankfully, Hanzawa didn’t pry any further. “I can see why,” he said. “Something about you must have been unique enough to convince him, right?”

“…You think so?” I asked, ducking my head. It was amazing how one word—unique—was enough to dispel my worries. Saying I had a talent for recognizing beauty—that already made me feel like the most special person in the world. The implication that Richard recognizing that had been a testament to my uniqueness was unbelievably flustering. Rather than think about it for too long, I downed my coffee.

“I just thought that if he wasn’t looking to hire someone,” Hanzawa said, “it means that you must have been important enough to ask for, anyways. The atmosphere at your store would make one think you two had been friends for years.”

I felt warmer than usual. “I just… guess we aligned somehow,” I murmured, feeling a need to deflect the compliment. As much as I privately liked to think of our meeting as “fate,” hearing it from a veritable stranger was something else. “Richard is—he’s almost too incredible, I think. I’m lucky to work there.”

Hanzawa considered my statement carefully, and then asked, “Is it—and I could be overstepping, here, but—is it kind of a… scary feeling?”

“No, you’re right,” I said, feeling a euphoric rush of shared understanding. “It’s—I’m happy, of course. It’s impossible not to be. But it almost makes everything else pale in comparison—”

“And you begin to wonder where you’d be without it,” Hanzawa concluded, perfectly reading my mind.

I sighed. “I mean… it’s not like this will be my job forever, you know? But still, compared to going to university, whenever it’s the weekend, I feel like I’m ten times as real. Like I exist as… I don’t know, more than I am.”

“As in… you’re able to express yourself more?” Hanzawa asked.

I shook my head. “No, it’s like… I’m a more impressive person, even though nothing about me changes,” I said. “It feels like my actions have more meaning. And my world keeps expanding, each time.” When he didn’t respond, still wrapping his head around my words, I added, “…It might be a bit strange to blabber on and on about my job satisfaction. But I really think that being able to work where I do is a miracle of some kind.”

“I see what you mean,” he finally replied as he sipped his coffee. “In a way, Richard-san’s store feels like… a place that’s too good to be true, it could be said?”

“That’s exactly it!” I exclaimed. “And then once you meet Richard, it’s like… he’s a fairy prince or something that’s descended on the mortal world…”

Hanzawa fell into a sudden coughing fit.

I scrambled out of my seat, but he weakly waved me off, and so I stood over the table, watching him regain control of his throat. “Are you alright?”

He took a few deep breaths. “I’m fine,” he said, though he looked obviously embarrassed as he met my eyes. “I was just—taken off guard, I guess. You must really respect Richard-san. Have you… told him this?”

With a new understanding as to why Kaede had so uselessly hovered around me, I slipped back into my own seat. “Well, of course,” I said slowly, wondering what I wasn’t getting. “I needed to express my gratitude to him.”

Hanzawa stared up at the ceiling like he’d received some kind of divine revelation. “And he reacted… well?” he ventured.

I suddenly remembered the many, many times Richard had scolded me for speaking without considering the implications, and I grimaced. “I’m not great with words, so I’ve definitely put my foot in my mouth a few times, but… sincerity is worth the embarrassment, I think,” I said, refraining from adding that I liked to think it was at least part of the reason he’d hired me. “And, though he’s annoyingly mysterious sometimes, he’s sincere to me, too.”

“How nice…” It was impossible not to hear the wistful edge in Hanzawa’s voice. He seemed to hear it too, because he added, “Well, I do wish you two the best,” with a knowing smile.

It wasn’t hard to pick up on the distance in his voice. Despite talking about Richard and the shop, Hanzawa hadn’t once mentioned his own visit or his upcoming appointment.

Before I could prod him about it, Hanzawa cleared his throat and asked, “You’ve finished your coffee?”

I looked down at my cup, which had been empty for quite a while. “Yeah,” I said, bracing for a quick goodbye.

A strange look passed over Hanzawa’s face as he drained his cup, and he set it down on the table with a soft clink. His gaze moved sideways—I followed his line of sight, but it led nowhere. “If—if the bruising is a problem,” Hanzawa haltingly began, “I could… I might have a solution.”

The words looked painful for him to say. “You’re already treating me to coffee,” I assured. “There’s no need to do me another favor.”

He shook his head, firmer. “This… as I said, this was kind of a selfish request, anyways. If you’re willing, I’d be happy to help.”

I wasn’t about to turn down the chance to hear him talk. Maybe, if I gathered enough courage, I’d even be able to ask him about dyed stones. “Well… what did you have in mind?”

———

Much like the first time I’d visited the jewelry section of a department store, I was beginning to feel overwhelmed. This time, it wasn’t at the sight of diamonds as far as the eye could see, but of the bright lights, glossy photos, and shelves upon shelves of products I wasn’t sure how to name. I half-recognized some of the brand names scattered around the store, but otherwise felt wholly out of my depth.

Were it not for the presence of a guide, I’d have never come here. But Hanzawa was shifting his feet next to me, a skittish look in his eyes like he was convinced I’d back out at any moment. That was the same way he’d broached the subject, too, saying, “Well… you could probably cover that bruise with makeup,” in a tone so soft I’d barely heard him.

“How?” I’d asked, pouncing on the option a little too eagerly.

Hanzawa drummed his fingers against his empty cup. “It’s pretty easy,” he said. “I could teach you, but we’d have to buy some products, because we don’t have the same skin tone.” He mulled over his next words.

“There’s a department store near here,” I offered.

At that, he seemed to relax. “My older sister is really into makeup and costuming,” he said with a light laugh, “so I ended up being forced into knowing a few things myself.”

Things moved quickly after that. He paid for my coffee, and I followed him to the nearest department store before he could have too many second thoughts. It wasn’t like I didn’t understand his hesitation—we were still practically strangers, and this was an offer that required considerable involvement on his part. Still, more than anything, I didn’t want to skip work. And as little as I knew Hanzawa, he seemed like the kind of person who would never suggest something that wasn’t an actual solution.

“You’ll have to lead the way,” I finally prompted.

Hanzawa paused and corrected his posture. “Right,” he said, picked up a basket near the entrance, and then struck a path through the various displays, waving off staff with a polite, inscrutable smile.

For all he’d been hesitant, Hanzawa navigated the store with a brilliant kind of confidence. Apart from the two of us, there were barely any men in the store, but Hanzawa didn’t look out of place in the slightest. Soon enough we were left to wander around unapproached.

Finally, we came to a stop in front of a display that carried a variety of tubes in a variety of skin tones. Hanzawa leaned forward to inspect them, and I caught sight of the barely visible piercing holes in his ears.

“You’re not wearing earrings,” I observed.

He answered me without turning his head. “I suppose it’s a leftover habit from high school,” he said thoughtfully. “I didn’t wear them in class, because—well, it’s a bit of a delinquent look, and I was the president of the disciplinary club.”

That explained why he’d been so composed when helping Kaede earlier. I wonder if he’d acquired that sense of reliability from his time in the club, or if had been the reason he’d joined. “What… am I supposed to get, here?” I asked, pointing at the display.

“To cover your bruise, we’ll need concealer, foundation, and a setting spray, probably? So right now, we’re looking for foundations that match your skin tone. What color do you usually bruise?”

“…Purple, I guess?”

“Then we’ll get a yellow color corrector to offset it,” Hanzawa said, plucking a foundation from the shelf. He held it up to the light—the color was kind of close to my skin, I supposed, but there were a lot that looked just like it.

“How are you supposed to figure out the right color?” I asked.

“Oh—you can sample it,” Hanzawa said, and he motioned for me to hold my hand out. We swatched various foundations on the back of my hand as Hanzawa explained to me the basic methodology for covering a bruise. The color corrector would negate the purple hues of my bruise, concealer would properly cover it up with my actual skin tone, and foundation would provide a smooth cover that blended with the rest of my face. The setting spray was just to make sure everything held for the entire time I was working. “You’ll probably want makeup brushes, too,” Hanzawa said as he explained how to apply everything. “We can buy some, or I could maybe lend you mine…”

I could see him trying to work out how to lend me makeup brushes in a way that wouldn’t require an additional meeting. “No, I’ll get one of my own,” I said.

“You sure?” he asked.

I nodded. “It’s kind of weird to say this, but… somehow, I feel like this may not be the last time I need something like this?”

Satisfied with the last foundation we’d tried, Hanzawa showed me how to remove all the makeup on my hand before leading me to another display. There he found a standard set of makeup brushes and gingerly placed it into his basket. “Well, I suppose you do lead quite an exciting life,” he commented.

“This is the first time I’ve gotten injured,” I said. “But there are a lot of interesting people at Richard’s shop, so I guess I do end up having interesting experiences.” I paused. Like this, actually, I didn’t say, and instead asked, “You mentioned your older sister taught you this?”

“It’s not really that I was taught,” Hanzawa clarified. “It was more like… a natural consequence of existing around her? I ended up knowing a lot of the terminology, and I’d get dragged to places like these, too. At that point, you have to at least learn the basics.”

I’d never had a sibling before, so I wondered if it was natural for everyone to pick up skills from their family like this. With my mother, we’d always maintained a certain sense of distance, and with my stepfather overseas, the only one who could maybe qualify as family was Richard. Who I had, indeed, learned a lot from. “And you learned more on your own, afterwards?”

“Well, at my high school, our cultural festival holds a cross-dressing competition each year—it was an all-boys school, hence the tradition—and I ended up learning a bit more because of that. One of my classmates actually attends cosmetology school, now, which is where I learned how to do this.” He gestured in the direction of my reddened cheek.

I reached up on instinct, suddenly conscious of the fact that I was walking around with such an obvious injury. I’d attributed the stares of passerby to the fact that I looked out of place in a makeup store, but this was probably the real reason.

Hanzawa studied my face, and his tone gentled. “It’s been a valuable skill to me,” he murmured. “Makeup gives us the ability to beautify.”

Hand still pressed against my cheek, I confessed, “I’d never really thought of it that way, before. Though I don’t really know anything, really. But I’d always thought of it as… having something to hide, I guess.” I felt like a fool as soon as the words left my mouth.

“Well,” Hanzawa said, still low and quiet, “I suppose we are aiming to hide that bruise of yours. But there is value even in concealment, I think.” A wry smile graced his mouth. “Speaking of.”

We’d lingered for too long in one place, and so we moved to collect a bottle of setting spray and a pale-yellow color corrector before stopping to search through a row of concealers. As we compared various shades on my hand, I recalled the conversation I’d had with Richard about tiramisu.

“…Don’t people also value the truth, though?” I asked.

The shade Hanzawa had tested was far darker than it had looked in the tube. He paused over my hand, and without lifting his head, said, “Perhaps I’m being cynical… but I think most people only value the truth when it is beautiful.” He paused to dab a different concealer on my hand. “I don’t think you’re wrong—people do value authenticity. That’s exactly why so many makeup advertisements discuss how to achieve a natural look, or how to enhance your natural features by smoothing out ‘imperfections’… we’ve defined a kind of beauty that is meant to emulate reality, but that doesn’t mean it is reality.”

Though I couldn’t see his expression, I could hear the raw sincerity in his voice. Something clicked into place, and I realized that for Hanzawa, enhancement was the same as concealment.

“The kinds of beauty we recognize are usually just skin-deep, huh…” I said, echoing the conversation I’d had with Tanimoto-san.

“And everyone prefers to be beautiful,” Hanzawa said.

Yamamoto-san, too, had thought that beauty was a great advantage. “Doesn’t beauty come with its own disadvantages, though?” I asked. At Hanzawa’s curious look, I paraphrased how Richard had described his own experiences. “Like, if you’re so beautiful that people think you’re unapproachable, isn’t that hard?”

“I suppose so,” Hanzawa said. “You’re talking about a kind of… unreal beauty, right? Like your boss.”

“Ah… was it obvious?”

Hanzawa smiled. “A little.” He hummed for a bit in thought, and then said, “In either direction, I think there’s a fear of… standing out, or looking odd. That’s why we’re here. Though I suppose there might be some people who have enough pride to eschew standards.”

The shade he’d just tried was a perfect match. “When you put it that way… there’s definitely times I don’t want to say everything about myself,” I conceded, remembering how I’d felt when confronted by Mami-san’s deep, uncomfortable sense of shame. “Having that kind of pride is… an ideal, but just that.” As much as Richard liked to ask if I had ever decided to think before I spoke, I, too, had things I found hard to say.

“That’s everything, I think,” Hanzawa said, adding the concealer to the basket. “I’ve got makeup wipes with me, so you can just have them. Since we’re here, though, do you mind if I make a quick detour?”

“Go ahead,” I said, and Hanzawa drifted through the store at a leisurely pace, inspecting different products. I took the time to observe the various advertisements pasted around the store, noting that Hanzawa’s description hadn’t been incorrect. Then I observed the array of colors scattered around the store as Hanzawa inspected different kinds of eyeshadow. “I guess blue is rare here, too.”

“Hm?”

“I was just reminded of ultramarine,” I said, pointing towards the overwhelming set of pinks and reds in a collection of lipsticks. “It was prized not just because the stone was precious, but because blue was a rare pigment color, right?”

“…Lapis lazuli sure was a precious stone,” Hanzawa replied. “In addition to blue’s rarity, I’d think it would be hard to collect pieces without significant gold spots. When ground into pigment, those colors would muddy the blue. If one needed to source pure blue lapis lazuli for ultramarine, that would only further increase its rarity and value.”

“Wait, are you majoring in economics?” I blurted out, a little bewildered by the clarity of his explanation.

Distracted from his inspection of an eyeshadow palette, Hanzawa turned to squint at me, bemused. “No, I’m not,” he said. “Are you?”

“I am, yeah.” I floundered, wondering how to explain that for just a moment, Hanzawa had reminded me of Richard. Maybe he was training to be a diplomat—that would explain why even when he spoke casually, every word felt measured. He was certainly better at speaking than me, who couldn’t figure out how to casually ask him what he was actually majoring in.

At my lost expression, Hanzawa laughed and went back to searching through eyeshadows. “…You actually remind me of someone I know.”

“How so?”

“A few things, I think,” Hanzawa said. “You’re both… open to many new experiences.” Though the fondness in his voice was palpable, it was deeply careful, like he was letting me know the shades of some terrible secret.

“You don’t find them exciting?”

“And equally likely to be hurtful,” he rebutted, though not aggressively.

Hanzawa took my answering silence as agreement—which it partially was—and continued looking around the store. Conscious of the time we’d spent wandering, he explained, “The color I’m looking for is uncommon. Eyeshadows have more variety than lipsticks do, but the majority stay within the range of pinks to browns.”

“Even though it’s not a problem to make blue pigment anymore, it’s still a matter of supply and demand, isn’t it?” I surmised. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone wear blue lipstick.”

“The kind of people that do are amazing to me,” Hanzawa said. “Whether it’s simply a matter of liking it or wanting to be deviant from the norm—I think there’s a great strength in accepting oneself as anomalous.”

Finally, he picked out a sparkly lime green eyeshadow, and after holding the color up to the light, tucked it into his basket. It was no wonder he’d spent so much time searching—while accompanying him, I hadn’t seen a single product that looked like it.

“You really are fond of that color,” I noted.

Hanzawa froze for a moment. “It’s for—the cultural festival, actually,” he explained. “I’m helping them out.”

“Oh, I do something like that too—it’s with the karate class I used to attend back in middle school, though,” I shared. “You must be close with your juniors?”

As we entered the checkout line, Hanzawa said, “I think it’s something like a leftover sense of responsibility. That guy… we used to be in the same club.”

Before I could ask him what that guy meant, our attention was redirected to the cashier in front of us. She looked surprised to see two men in front of her, but quickly began scanning the items before her. “Picking up products for your girlfriends?” she asked with a smile, clearly hoping to ease our nerves.

Hanzawa stepped forward, partially obscuring my view. “It’s for my older sister, actually,” he replied, the same smile mirrored on his face. “I just hope I’ve gotten it right!”

Caught up in his mild, inconsequential lie, I stood there, hands hung limply at my side, as I realized that apart from her initial shock, she hadn’t once glanced at my cheek. To be accurate, Hanzawa hadn’t let her. This was probably what he’d meant by the value of concealment. It was like when Richard had pretended not to speak Japanese at that department store. While it wasn’t the truth, it was the option that limited any unwanted misunderstandings.

…Was it really because of his older sister that he’d learned how to do makeup? Or was that just the easiest explanation?

We exited the store with our purchases, and I handed over the eyeshadow to Hanzawa. He slipped it into his messenger bag, and in return, produced a pack of makeup wipes for me to take. “If you forget what to do, there’s a bunch of tutorials online,” Hanzawa reassured, gesturing to my bag of makeup.

“Thanks for the help,” I said. “I had a nice time, too—I feel like I got to hear from an interesting person, as well.”

“Don’t think too much of it—I was really just rambling,” he said dismissively before offering me a tight smile. “I do hope work goes well for you this weekend.”

“…You’ll know, won’t you?” I asked, summoning a bit of courage. “Since you’ll be there.”

“Ah,” Hanzawa said, and stilled before giving his confirmation. “…Yes, I will.”

With that promise exacted from him, we naturally said our goodbyes and parted at a nearby street. The early morning chill had faded somewhat under the sun, and as I made my way back to campus, I thought about the many ways Richard’s face might change upon seeing Hanzawa arrive at his appointment. He wouldn’t give me a raise, but I’d get something out of it, nonetheless.

#cfojr #my writing #hanzawa to tashiro #hanzawa masato #the case files of jeweler richard #nakata seigi #the anomalous agate #<3 loved seeing the responses to ch 1 again btw.#and apologies for any typos i might have missed!#I think I could edit this more for like. minor flip flopping on how I phrase sentences but #if I do that this would never actually get posted lol #other things: I considered splitting this ch into two (pausing before the cafe) but decided not to #in return ch 3 is likely to be much shorter #in fact every ch should be. I’ve only got 4 scenes left including the epilogue #though how much does that mean. sure ch 2 was 4 scenes but yknow what was 1? ch 1.#jeweler richard

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bleachbleachbleach · 1 year ago

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Hi! Love the blog, it’s great to revel in everything Bleach! I have two questions that have been plaguing me since I reread the manga in the past few months, and I was hoping you (or your followers) could help me. Spoilers for TYBW below!

What did Aizen (or his henchmen) take from Matsumoto for Gin to go to such lengths to avenge her?

And, spoiler:

What happened to Yachiru in the TYBW-arc? Was she the embodiment of Zaraki’s zanpakuto in the end?

Thank you!

We’re glad you’re enjoying the blog! <3

The Matsumoto question is so funny to me, because that’s a topic I’ve seen people discuss with absolute certitude what was taken and what the outcomes would be, and I have always confused because none of it was at all the impression I’d come away with. And I was like, damn, what did I miss??? How could I do you so wrong, Matsumoto, my baby girl, one of my very top blorbos??

The “funny” part comes from me immediately thinking “maybe we have fundamentally different assumptions about the nature of the soul” instead of thinking the MUCH MORE LIKELY, NORMAL, AND CORRECT thing, which is “oh, they read CFYOW and I haven’t.”

Because the version of this discussion I tend see is:

Aizen took a part of Matsumoto’s soul

—> which means she is missing part of her soul

—> which means she’ll probably never be able to achieve bankai

—> ultimate tragedy

I don’t get this train of logic. I don’t mean that as like, a “rawr they’re so wrong and I’m so right” thing. It’s just an interpretation so far beyond my ken my brain short circuits and I quietly let what meager thoughts I do have fall from my head, and then I forget about them.

Below the cut, 12 paragraphs of tangential talk of souls and bankai, and 4 paragraphs directly addressing the questions in the ask. Feel free to scroll to the bottom for those!

I BELIEVE the CFYOW connection here is Aizen explaining bits of Soul King (in Matsumoto’s case, a Nail) found their way into a bunch of people’s souls, and Aizen took it out of Matsumoto and fed it to his Hougyoku. Something something Fullbringers, too, but I’m not the person to ask about this because in addition to not having read CFYOW, I am also not personally interested in the Soul King or the Hougyoku or the Fullbringers. But this CFYOW info does make other people’s discussions of this make a lot more sense to me!!

All the same, the reason my brain jumped to “different interpretations of the nature of the soul!” is because I don’t think I can personally conceptualize “missing” a *part* of a soul? In my mind, a soul is a soul or it’s not; there’s no decimals involved. Why I’d have this mentally locked in, of all things, I don’t know. I’m not a theist IRL, but apparently this is just How Fictional Souls work.

In my mind, a soul is like a worm, or a liver. Cut out a part of it, and it just keeps worming, or liver-ing, and its state of being and function are basically unchanged. You can’t have <I>part</I> of a soul; it’s either a soul or it’s not. The thing that got cut off is a shed item that has no definition. (Maybe what I actually have a strong opinion about is Matsumoto being a full, self-actualized, undiminished person, irrespective of her traumas.)

As far as Bleach goes, I don’t think we’ve had any canon mentions of souls that don’t exist as whole integrals (e.g. Pluses or Minuses). I mean, Fracciones, LOL, but that’s not really… those are not what I am talking about. XDD And the aforementioned Soul King body parts, but Soul King gonna Soul King. We’ve seen souls dissipate into motes, but I feel like that’s a transition from being a soul into being reishi motes that are Not Soul that will probably reconstitute into some other soul at some later point. The notion of giving someone your shinigami power and why that’s so illegal might factor in here, but those mechanics seem different, too.

There are lots of different interpretations of the nature of the soul, of course, and entire theologies dedicated to these questions. But I think the soul interpretation I like the best and that I think tracks with what we know about zanapakutou is that a soul is not a rigid, singular thing. It’s more a fluid series of occurrences and experiences bound together relationally, which I feel like tracks with the development of a shinigami’s relationship to their zanapakutou; there’s some base that you need to hear the name of, or some extant entity you need to come to understand, but beyond that your bankai (and to be honest, probably the higher-level development of your shikai) is going to be created of your experiences and desires and values and all these things that area part of your wily and ever-shifting but irreducible soul fabric.

Again, that’s just me and what I think is most interesting to think about. Of all the things that could have umpteen different interpretations, I think souls are high on the list!

But thinking about the whole bankai discussion I see sometimes, here’s why it’s just not something I think about in that way:

1) Everyone we know and their hamster has bankai, sure, but I think one of the big schisms between our perception of this world as readers and the lived experience of shinigami in this world is that bankai is incredibly rare, a largely unknown quantity, and probably not something the average denizen of Soul Society or even Joe Shinigami thinks a lot about in their day-to-day. Bankai is the exception, not the expectation.

Most shinigami don’t even have *shikai* and even people like Iemura, who as afar as we’ve seen is basically useless, is a cream of the crop shinigami, skill-wise. Unless you’re Ichigo being bullied into achieving bankai in three days (or Hisagi also being bullied into bankai for some Kensei reason), I feel like shinigami don’t go around thinking “this is why you don’t have bankai” because no one really expects that’s something to expect to be able to achieve. It’d be like going around thinking, “What part of my soul is missing that I can’t win a Nobel Prize?”

2) Maybe I’m just a bad Bleach fan, but I don’t really see a lot of value in achieving bankai, anyway. I mean, for the self-actualization, absolutely! But there is more than one route to self-actualization and I don’t think that not having bankai bars you from other routes. Bankai is a perfect storm of aptitudes and training and self-sorting, not an end-all. If it’s not in your practice, it’s not in your practice. I don’t feel like it’s the Soul Society equivalent of becoming a Pokemon Master, where it’s every ten-year old’s dream, a thing that’s purportedly normal and reasonable to want and achieve.

That reality is important to me, because I feel like it marks the distance between what is highlighted in our experience of Bleach as a plot-driven narrative and the Joe Shinigami experience of mulling about in the background, and that kind of thing really tickles me. Love it.

Okay, Matsumoto’s definitely not a background character. But even for VCs! Most PhDs don’t strive for MacArthur Genius Awards, and the implication isn’t that you’re unambitious or a deficient scholar if you never earn one. I dunno. I understand the trauma/tragedy of having bankai stolen, as in TYBW. What a mindfuck! D: But I don’t respond to “never having achieved bankai” in the same way.

But that’s all a huge tangent!

What did Aizen take from Matsumoto, for Gin to go to such lengths to avenge her?

For me, the question isn’t “what” did he take; what was this important thing. I think it’s the act of taking—the audacity of feeling justified and empowered to do so. To use the souls of Rukongai for one’s own end, as though they are a resource and not a people.

What happened to Yachiru in the TYBW-arc?

Lots of interpretations here, as well. I’ll share what has always been my perception. Yachiru has always seemed, to me, an entity unto herself. “Child-like,” to a degree, but also nothing like a child, and not treated as a child. But also not treated as other shinigami—there seems to be some understanding that she is an entity unto herself. Don’t question it, just work with it. Which, for all the Gotei’s failures, is something they’re actually pretty good at. They know Yachiru is not really the normative shinigami, but she’s Yachiru, and they’re rolling with it. The same goes for Nemu.

She’s probably one of those things that I mentioned above, for which there is no real definition or designation, because she exists outside of the matrix. She is not a soul; she is not a sword; yet she is also both of those things. Yeah, I think she’s part of Zaraki’s sword, but not in ways that are equivalent to the Zabimaru spirit Renji speaks to in the Soul Society arc; or to dragon-Hyourinmaru, or to the humanoid Zanpakutou spirits in the Zanpakutou Rebellion Arc.

She is Yachiru.

#NB: i wrote the first part of this ask in february while Going Through It and have opted to just post-it as is #because i didn't want to think about february anymore and decided i would prefer to live with the dust and mess of this response instead #apologies for the long response time!#matsumoto rangiku #kusajishi yachiru #no brain just bleach #asks #holy shoot i fixed a typo and tumblr changed where the cut in this post was! sorry about that. it's fixed now and much shorter b4 the cut

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