# Nine Lives in Neon Lights
## Chapter 3: Unexpected Partnerships
The afternoon's first class was Advanced Physics—a subject Akira had been failing so spectacularly that she'd considered it a personal vendetta between herself and the laws of thermodynamics. Today, however, as Sensei Watanabe wrote complex equations on the whiteboard, the symbols seemed to rearrange themselves into perfect clarity in her mind.
*Force equals mass times acceleration. Kinetic energy equals one-half mass times velocity squared. The conservation of energy states that energy cannot be created or destroyed, only transformed from one form to another.*
She blinked, staring at her notebook where she'd unconsciously written out derivations for quantum mechanics equations that definitely weren't part of the curriculum.
"Yamamoto-san," Watanabe's voice cut through her confusion. "Since you seem so engaged with the material, perhaps you'd like to solve this problem for us?"
He gestured to a complex equation on the board involving electromagnetic fields. Yesterday, Akira would have stared at it like hieroglyphics. Today, she found herself walking to the front of the class with confidence she didn't understand.
"The electromagnetic field strength can be calculated using Maxwell's equations," she heard herself say, picking up the marker. "We need to consider both the electric and magnetic components..."
Her hand moved across the board, writing equations and explanations that flowed from some deep well of knowledge she'd never possessed. The solution emerged step by step, elegant and correct.
The classroom was dead silent when she finished.
"That's..." Watanabe stared at the board, then at her. "That's university-level physics. Where did you learn quantum field theory?"
"I..." Akira looked at the complex mathematics she'd just produced, having no memory of learning any of it. "I've been studying?"
A soft laugh came from the back of the classroom. She turned to see Ryouta Kuroda watching her with an expression of amused interest, his pale eyes glittering with something that might have been recognition.
"Impressive," he said, his voice carrying that same formal cadence she'd noticed in the library. "Though I believe you made a small error in the third line."
Every head in the classroom swiveled toward him. New students didn't typically correct the sudden genius on their first day.
Akira looked back at the board and, impossibly, spotted the mistake immediately. "You're right," she said, erasing and correcting the equation. "The coefficient should be negative."
"Much better," Ryouta said with a slight smile that made something flutter in her chest.
Watanabe looked between them like a tennis match. "Mr. Kuroda, I wasn't aware you had advanced physics training."
"I've had excellent tutors," Ryouta replied smoothly. "My family values education."
*Kuroda Industries,* Akira remembered from the library whispers. *Old money. Serious old money.*
She returned to her seat, hyperaware of Ryouta's gaze following her movement. When she glanced back, he was still watching her with that unsettling intensity.
The bell saved her from further analysis of impossible physics knowledge.
---
"Partner projects," announced Sensei Hayashi as students filed into World History. "You'll be researching the social and economic impacts of the Meiji Restoration. Partners will be assigned randomly."
Akira groaned internally. Group projects were social minefields for scholarship students at Sakura Academy. She usually ended up paired with someone who either ignored her completely or expected her to do all the work while they took credit.
"Yamamoto and Kuroda," Hayashi called out.
Of course. The universe apparently had a sense of humor.
Students began rearranging themselves, and Ryouta approached her desk with fluid movements that seemed too graceful for a normal teenager. Up close, his pale skin had an almost porcelain quality, and his dark eyes held depths that suggested years of experience beyond his apparent age.
"Convenient," he said, settling into the chair beside her. "I was hoping we'd have a chance to talk."
"About the Meiji Restoration?" Akira asked, though something in his tone suggested otherwise.
"Among other things." His smile revealed teeth that seemed slightly too sharp. "You've had some interesting developments recently, haven't you?"
Her blood chilled. "I don't know what you mean."
"The sudden academic improvement. The enhanced awareness." His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "The new... additions to your anatomy."
Akira's hand instinctively moved toward her waist where her tail was hidden. "How do you—"
"I can smell it," Ryouta said simply. "Kitsune have a very distinctive scent. Like summer lightning and old forests."
The word hit her like a physical blow. *Kitsune.* Fox spirits from Japanese folklore. Shapeshifters with multiple tails who grew more powerful with age and wisdom.
"That's impossible," she whispered.
"Is it? How else would you explain your transformation?" He leaned closer, and she caught a scent like winter nights and something metallic she couldn't identify. "The question is, how many tails do you have?"
"One," she admitted before she could stop herself.
"Newly awakened, then. That explains the knowledge downloads—your fox nature is accessing your genetic memory, drawing on the wisdom of your ancestors." He paused. "It also explains why you survived what should have been a fatal injury."
Akira stared at him. "You know about the shooting."
"I know about many things. For instance, I know you're not the only supernatural being at Sakura Academy." His eyes glittered with amusement. "This school has quite a diverse student body, once you know what to look for."
Before she could process this revelation, Hayashi clapped his hands. "Alright, pairs should begin outlining their research approach. I want to see preliminary bibliographies by the end of class."
"We should meet after school," Ryouta said, pulling out an expensive-looking notebook. "My family has an extensive private library. Many rare historical documents about the Meiji period."
"Why are you helping me?" Akira asked suspiciously.
"Because you're going to need guidance," he replied seriously. "Newly awakened supernatural beings tend to make mistakes that draw unwanted attention. And because..." He hesitated, something almost vulnerable crossing his features. "Because you're not the only one who's been pretending to be something you're not."
---
The rest of the day passed in a blur of academic excellence that Akira was beginning to accept, if not understand. She aced a literature quiz, solved advanced calculus problems that made her teacher do a double-take, and somehow delivered a presentation on European economic history that earned spontaneous applause.
By the time the final bell rang, half the school was talking about Akira Yamamoto's miraculous transformation from academic failure to genius. The attention made her skin crawl, especially when she caught teachers whispering in the hallways.
"This is getting out of hand," Hiroshi said as they walked toward the school gates. "People are starting to think you cheated somehow. Or that you're on some kind of performance-enhancing drugs."
"Academic steroids?" Akira tried to joke, but her heart wasn't in it.
"I'm serious, Akira. The guidance counselor wants to see you tomorrow morning. And I heard Nakamura talking to the principal about having you tested for..." He lowered his voice. "For psychological evaluation. They think you might be having some kind of breakdown."
Great. She was drawing exactly the kind of attention Ryouta had warned against.
"Hiroshi, I have to go," she said suddenly, spotting Ryouta waiting by the school's main entrance. "I have a study group."
"Since when do you have study groups?"
"Since today, apparently." She squeezed his shoulder. "Don't worry so much. I'm fine."
But as she walked toward Ryouta, leaving her confused best friend behind, she wondered if she'd ever be fine again.
---
Ryouta's car was exactly what she'd expected from the heir to a corporate empire—a sleek black sedan with tinted windows and leather seats that probably cost more than her family's annual income. The driver, a serious-looking man in his fifties, nodded politely as they got in.
"Tanaka-san will take us to my family's estate," Ryouta explained as they pulled into Tokyo traffic. "We'll have privacy to discuss your situation properly."
"My situation," Akira repeated. "You mean the fact that I apparently turned into a mythological creature overnight."
"Not overnight. The transformation has been building for years, probably since puberty. The shooting simply provided the catalyst for your awakening." He studied her profile as she stared out the window at the passing city. "Tell me, have you always been a poor student?"
"Always. My mom used to joke that I got my brains from my father, whoever he was." She paused. "Why?"
"Because kitsune intelligence isn't linear. Young foxes often appear scattered or unfocused—their minds are processing information differently than humans. But once awakened..." He gestured toward her. "Well, you've seen the results."
They'd left the city center now, entering an area of traditional estates hidden behind high walls and ancient trees. Akira had never been to this part of Tokyo, where old money lived in careful seclusion from the modern world's chaos.
"What about you?" she asked. "You said you were pretending to be something you're not."
Ryouta was quiet for so long she thought he wouldn't answer. Finally, he said, "I'm considerably older than I appear."
"How considerably?"
"I was born during the Kamakura period."
Akira did the math. "That's over eight hundred years ago."
"Eight hundred and forty-seven, to be precise." His smile was rueful. "I'm what you might call a vampire, though we prefer the term 'nosferatu.' And before you ask—no, I don't sparkle, and yes, I do drink blood, though I've adapted to more ethical sources in the modern era."
A vampire. Her project partner was an eight-hundred-year-old vampire who looked like he belonged in a boy band.
"This is insane," she said weakly.
"This is your new reality," Ryouta corrected gently as they pulled through ornate gates. "Welcome to the supernatural world, Akira Yamamoto. Try not to get yourself killed."
The estate that came into view was breathtaking—traditional Japanese architecture blended seamlessly with modern security systems, all surrounded by gardens that looked like they belonged in historical paintings.
As they approached the main house, Akira caught sight of someone watching from an upper window—a figure that disappeared as soon as she looked up.
"Who else lives here?" she asked.
"Various family members and associates," Ryouta said vaguely. "Don't worry. They're all quite civilized."
Somehow, that didn't make her feel better.
The car stopped, and Tanaka-san opened their door with professional efficiency. As Akira stepped out, her newly enhanced senses were immediately overwhelmed—the gardens smelled of night-blooming flowers and something darker underneath, like old incense and preserved secrets.
"Shall we?" Ryouta offered his arm with old-fashioned courtesy.
Akira looked at the ancient house, thought about her tail hidden beneath her uniform, and realized she was about to enter a world she'd never imagined existed.
"Why not?" she said, taking his arm. "It's not like my day could get any weirder."
Ryouta's laugh was soft and knowing. "Oh, my dear fox. You have no idea."