Music in media: 4AM by IU

Okaasan rises from her wheeled, grey armchair, takes the cup ramen out of the paper bag and gives it a good shake. Then she sinks and pouts. "Kyo, is this really my lunch?"

I nod. "Meta got this for you."

Meta supports my statement by peeling the lid for her and removing the sauces and seasoning. "Shōyu ramen good. Soy sauce, scallions, sesame, chāshū, nori, menma, scallions, kamaboko."

"You said 'scallions' twice," Okaasan speaks with an uncontrolled steeliness.

Meta deadpans, "This brand has two times the scallions."

Well done, Meta. This is why we are such great friends.

Okaasan has an office for herself. Today, there's no need to convene in the guards' room, so we have our privacy, just in time for a good talk between mother and son. She doesn't even bother putting aside her manga now that I know her secret. She doesn't hide the red oni mask from sight either. I wonder if it's her blind faith in "the most dangerous place is usually the safest" or she's just used to hiding everything in plain sight.

Truth be told, I don't think I can blame her. After that night, no one comes to disturb us any longer, but I do get judgemental stares once in a while, especially when I'm on my way to the Ivory Tower. I'd like to think the Gastly are her doing. Maybe she does have some common sense after all, and that she understands her role as a mother.

"Are you rebelling, Kyo?" She slaps her desk and leans forward, her grape-violet lips twisting into a sneer. "You know you can tell me anything."

"He will, when you stop using his life as fodder for your career," Meta says. With wide eyes, I silence him, but he goes on. "He is your son, not your boy toy. It's unfair to think you're always right, don't you think?"

The past few days spent with Meta has taught me that he's always been more of a jester. Yet, he can pull off a grave tone with just as much ease.

"It seems you've become more brazen now that you've had your freedom." Okaasan kicks the leg of the desk and her armchair rolls back, then she props her legs on the papers strewn about the brown tabletop, her heels dangling from her painted toes. Crossing her arms, she glares at me. "Please tell your new friend to leave the office."

"It's better if he stays," I admit. "He's also involved in this."

My mother flings one of her heels at Meta who dodges in time. She grunts. He picks it up and shoves it on her foot. She winces and frowns.

"How is this pest involved?"

"It's thanks to him that you have your drama," I say, keeping polite. "Besides, he's part of the main cast."

Okaasan raises her chin. "I can put him in exile. There are a thousand ways to off someone from a story."

"Mary, Mary, quite contrary," Meta mumbles as he pours boiling water into the cup ramen and closes the lid.

"What I want to know is what sparked that idea."

Okaasan relaxes her arms and grabs a pair of chopsticks from a drawer. "I thought it's about time you get a life. If you won't get a job, you might as well work for me. I always pay my people handsomely." She sweeps her legs off the desk and the papers fly into a flurry, one or two landing on my head. When I take a peek at its contents, she explains it's the script for the recently-aired episode. "As your mother, all I want is for you to do something with your life. You are already seventeen. You didn't go on a journey, which Rae soon will once she graduates. You didn't help out at your father's brewery. You didn't like to study so I couldn't have offered you even an admin job here in the Ivory Tower. And you definitely don't want to put your cooking skills to use."

"In summary, you're forcing me into a deepfake drama with well-meaning intents." I shake my head. "Is this a last resort thing?"

"My dear," she says as she snatches the cup ramen from Meta and opens the lid, smoke billowing into the office, "our house is not your resort in the first place. And I believe it's of utmost importance that you do something about your social life. If you choose not to do anything romantic after that accidental confession to Matsuba, I just have to find a narrative for you."

Meta rolls his eyes, which looks really cute on him, because those black dots actually turn white for a moment. "You can lead a Mudsdale to water, but you can't make it drink. For someone as down-to-earth as Kyo, it's better if you let this go, rather than push him towards his weaknesses or do things that will hurt him."

Okaasan picks a scallion with her silver chopsticks and looks through the hole at us. "That may be right, if Kyo is a Pokémon. Humans are just wired differently. We must confront our fears or forever live in our delusions."

I blink and look between them. How does Meta know about the water and the Mudsdale? It's more than a proverb. I never told anyone about my past tendency to self-harm by dehydration. And my mother only ever arrives at the conclusion that I'm drinking less water because I'm afraid of peeing, a really absurd idea she's taken a fancy for. As long as she believes something, that is the truth, and any statements to defend my truth end up as shrivelled excuses, a waste of precious saliva.

She slurps her ramen, but it's obvious she doesn't enjoy them as much as she does my homemade lunches. Yet she has the nerve to chastise me about a social life which she herself has restricted with a curfew, a duty to fulfil as her son, a set duration I can be out for, the places I can and cannot go, the people I hang out with. About the last clause, I pity my friends the most. They must first go through an intense grilling session with her, which comes in the form of tea appreciation and a game of 20 Questions when she knows what to expect, having done a background check on them without their having any knowledge of it. Should they lie or show any signs of anxiety, they're out. Those who prefer anything to tea are unwelcome. Those who are too quiet or too loud are unnecessary. Those with emotions latched onto their tongues or try to prove themselves knowledgeable will be thrown out with the trash.

To her, everything must be in moderation. Only when they meet her high standards, are deemed as an average human being with average human decency and common sense, and take, without hesitation, a blood oath to be my friends for life, will they be allowed into my tiny social circle. She relies on trust more than confidence in people, so there must be a proposal listing the terms and conditions of befriending Aomine Kyo, son of Aomine Himari and Asahi, and they must read everything aloud and not skip any clause, and must accept without doubt every one of them, clarifying when necessary. Stupid questions, as she call them, won't be entertained. Then they must sign using a pen from her collection. Even at this stage,
one must not let their guard down. Apparently, the pen you choose decides the person whom you will be. Any choice that disagrees with her level of sophistication will be denied. After three wrong choices are made, they will be sent out of her office.

"Okaasan." She snaps her gaze at me. Scratching my neck, I say, "Your drama series has made waves around the region. It's affecting the lives of my friends. It's also affecting my life."

"That's the point." She points the chopsticks at me. "I don't care what the conservative people have to say. You are free to be yourself. I know the moment I gave birth to you that you're gay."

I shake my head. "I've not dated before. I can't be sure of my own sexual orientation."

She returns to her ramen, but her eyes never leave me. "Sexual orientation? You don't determine that on your own, Kyo. As your mother, I'm the one who authorises it. And you're gay. You have a special connection with boys."

Meta steps in. "Even if he's gay, you can't just go around deciding his friends to be gay."

Indeed. Well said, Meta. For someone who's ignored any form of attraction to others, regardless of gender, it's hard to tell what my sexual orientation is. And it's unfair for the bois.

Okaasan smiles, a twinkle in her blue eyes. She pushes her cup ramen aside, pulls a drawer and drops a stack of papers onto the desk. Flipping a bunch of pages with fast fingers, she scans them like a laser and stops at one, putting it in my face.

I haul myself backwards a little to get a better look.

"Clause 271: Any friend of Aomine Kyo will help enrich his social life, no matter what, even if one day they're turned on just by his presence." I blink. "And all three of them agreed to this?"

She nods and finishes the last bit of her ramen. "Without hesitation."

"This doesn't prove anything."

She shows me another line.

"Clause 538: Please understand that Aomine Kyo is gay. You will accept him for who he is, and when one day you grow more comfortable with each other, it is a sign you, too, are gay." She puts the papers on her desk. "This is why you have a gay harem."

"Polyamory is frowned upon in our society," I refute. "No one will accept this."

"Yet they did," Okaasan says. "And they never questioned your gayness."

"That's..."

Knocks on the door save me from further shame. As I process the absurdity of the situation, Meta pats my head and envelops me. I think I'm starting to see stars. A man walks into the office, the numerous letters flooding his hands sliding to my feet. I pick one up. A letter of complaint.

"Aomine-san," he splutters, eyes me and snatches the letter. "The shredder broke down."

"Is that so?" She pushes the lever on the side of the armchair and reclines further. "We have many shredders."

"They have all broken down!" He throws the letters into the air and gets on his knees. Rubbing his hands together, he makes the typical pleading look. "This is too much. I think we should stop."

Meta nods. I observe the way the man's black tie tightens round his neck, count the creases on his trousers and tch at the lost lustre of his shoes.

"Get up," Okaasan huffs. "Don't make a fool of yourself while my son is here." She goes round her desk and helps him up, though her nails cut into his flesh and her tight-lipped smile seems to hide a poisoned dagger. He suppresses his hurt, but his eyes convey everything. "Look you now," she says as she squishes his cheeks, "you are a man. Men received education way before women were graced with that opportunity. Men were allowed to work way before women could. Men are traditionally stronger than women, until we proved that it was in fact your ego that was greater. Men can do anything—as long as there's a woman or two to lean on."

"Yes, Aomine-san."

"Do you want to break down like the shredders?" She runs her middle fingers up his cheeks, past his quivering eyes, his stiff brows, and halt at the centre of his forehead. "You are a disgrace to mankind. One reason why I should fire you right this instant. Ten reasons why I should keep you." With each syllable, she jabs his forehead with the fingers, and he's reduced to a roly-poly.

"I... I will shred them. I will shred them!" He shrieks, bends over to pick up the letters of complaint that come from all over Johto and gets to ripping them. When he's done with his first and heads to the next letter, however, Okaasan presses her heel on his hand and gives it a hard twist. A crack echoes.

"You have just destroyed the structure of the Ivory Tower," she sneers. "Do you not know how a shredder works? You put the papers through your mouth and let your teeth do the work. Then you will swallow these meaningless words with your trashy attitude. And for humanity's sake, do not shred papers in front of a woman. Do men not follow social decorum?" She lets go and kicks the letter out of his grip. "What're you waiting for? Get out!"

The whimpering man gathers the letters in a frenzy and runs out of the office. Just before he could leave, my mother slams the door against his foot, making him trip, the papers flying all over the floor. Pinching her nose, she kicks his foot in light, rapid succession till it goes beyond the threshold, bolts the door and twirls around with a hearty laugh.

"Sorry you have to see that. I don't like to make a scene. I really don't, but sometimes it's necessary." She places her hands on mine. "You must be scared stiff, Kyo." Her eyes grow teary and she's making that concerned look she always makes to convince herself that she is a mother. "That won't happen again the next time you come."

Of course it won't. I've lost count on the variations of your tyranny, my loving mother.

She settles into her armchair and cracks her knuckles. "The contract! So as I was saying, my dear, your friends are your greatest assets. You must cherish them more. Go out with them. Have fun. Enjoy yourselves at the beach. Go hiking. Don't just spend them with that Ditto."

I nod. "Essentially, a beach episode for fanservice, cute boys doing cute things, and more content for your drama."

"That's one way to put it, yes."

"Fine, we'll do that," Meta says. "Later, we'll go to Matsuba's gym, then Hayato's, then take a tour round the Pokémon School with Kaspar, then at night, we'll convene and discuss when would be a good time to hit the beach. Would you like to join us? You get to witness your gay son and his romantic life. Every parent lives vicariously through their children, as you're well aware. Kyo will do his utmost best to be your perfect son."

Okaasan grins. "What say you, Kyo?"

I glare at Meta and give her a knowing smile. "I disagree."

"Is it too much for you? Is suddenly having a social life very stressful?" She purses her lips.

I shake my head, stand up, and put Meta on my shoulder. "It's too scripted. Life is best experienced as is. I'm not a fictional character or your marionette. I'm your son. And I'm a human with free will. If you want to satisfy your fujoshi cravings—"

"Don't say anymore," she breathes and pulls me into a suffocating hug. "Every day I see you being so alone and it hurts. I can't imagine how much more pain you're in, but you're really noble and selfless. I've had a terrible youth, and I live in guilt knowing you have it worse. I don't need you to be perfect, Kyo—" Okaasan relieves her clutch a little. I look into her eyes, uncertain of what emotions are sparking her actions and words. "—all I need is for you to be happy. Just do what makes you happy. If it's hanging out with your friends, that's good. But you must come to terms one day with reality. I can tell you're gay. You've always had a crush on Matsuba since young. He named you, and that made you love him more. It's your stubbornness that refuses you from seeing this.

"I will say it again. It's a fact that you and your three friends are all gay. Now is the perfect time and place for you to explore and see who you'll want to live the rest of your life with."

I blink. I... I have always loved Matsuba? No, that's not true. It's just that since young, I've always been surrounded by more boys than girls. Okaasan's just forcing me to be who she wants me to be. She doesn't accept me for who I am.

That I am not gay. There's a reason why I hang out at the Enju Dance Hall as much as I frequent the Pokémon gyms. No way am I turned on by men only. It just sounds so wrong. If anything, I do like the Kimono Girls, especially Satsuki, the Kimono Girl with the Flareon. All this is too confusing. I just want to head home and binge my shows. I don't want to go outside. I don't want to do anything, for the time being!

I push her away and she squeaks. "You don't decide who I am! It's my choice!"

And I run. Meta wipes my tears as I run out of the door, past cubicles filled with interested stares, along the corridor, to the elevator.

The elevator.

It's where all the chaos began, isn't it? No, my life has always been chaotic thanks to Okaasan. Otousan is too absorbed in his saké business to leave much of an influence, albeit the fragment he contributes. Then there's Rae, who's always been an eternal sunshine.

I can't take it anymore.

The elevator dings. The doors slide open, cold and nonchalant, disposed of their usual passion.

I crash onto the small square.

"Make me disappear, Meta," I mumble. "If you can Transform the world around us, surely you can Transform my existence into a sweet nothing."

A warm hand cups my face. Then a voice.

"Then what is sweet for you will be bitter for us."

I raise my head. Of all times, Matsuba stares into my eyes and squeezes my numb hands.

Why is it so difficult to be alive? Okaasan isn't the only one who has to deal with guilt. What makes hers eclipse mine? Before the Ivory Tower was erected, this place was my playground. There was Matsuba. Later, Hayato joined us. Then Kaspar. Then the Ivory Tower came. It took everything away from us. From our freedom to our identity.

Knowledge is truly a bane to ordinary life.

"Matsuba," I whisper as Meta messes around with the elevator buttons. "I'm tired of suppressing myself. I can't go on anymore."

I can't pretend that I'm fine, not especially when everyone I think, do or say will be filtered in the public eye hereon now.

He pulls me into his chest and taps my head.

"Meta, it seems you know where we're headed," he says. "To the secret basement of the Ivory Tower."

I meet his gaze. He taps my shoulders.

"Our abandoned childhood. It's always been here with us."

He peers beyond me. I whirl around, still paralysed by my circumstances, by my revelation of vulnerability. The doors open and the vivid smell of char mixes with the frigid air.

"Kyo," he says as he supports my arm and the three of us leave the elevator.

Before us, Meta gives us his signature blank look. I wonder if he, too, is suppressing emotions, but this isn't the right time to ask that.

Meta stretches his arms wide open. "The remnants of the Burned Tower."

The remnants of Enju City's past, and ours.