Sora Daburu woke up to the sound of boiling water and someone humming off-key.
His skull throbbed.
He cracked an eye open.
He was on a couch that had definitely seen war. Not metaphorically, it genuinely looked like it had been used as cover during a shootout. Several springs poked his back like they were trying to reclaim territory.
Ah that's right, he'd been knocked over by that hobo earlier.
Tarou stood over a questionable pot on the stove, sleeves rolled up, wearing the battered coat of a man who had lost three jobs, two wives, and possibly a fight with a raccoon. His hair stuck out in angles that defied geometry.
"Oh, you're alive," Tarou said cheerfully. "That's good. Dead rookies are annoying to dispose of."
Sora rubbed his eyes. "Where the hell am I?"
"My place," Tarou said. "Don't touch anything. Most of it bites."
"What—"
Something rustled in the corner.
Sora decided he didn't want to investigate.
Tarou clapped his hands. "So! Job offer time!"
"No."
Sora didn't even let him finish the inhalation for dramatic effect.
Tarou blinked like he didn't hear it. "You'll start small. Patrol work. De-escalation. Low-level Fault incident response—"
"No."
"Great! Orientation is—"
"No."
Tarou exhaled dramatically, set down the spoon, and turned around.
He crossed his arms, dropped his shoulders, and summoned presumably his most intimidating stance.
He looked like a homeless 'jet black wings' preparing to cast a fireball in a park.
"I am giving you—" Tarou said, voice dropping to an ominous whisper, "—an opportunity… to avoid the government shoving needles up your arm until you sing nursery rhymes backwards."
Sora stared. "Are you trying to threaten me?"
"Yes," Tarou hissed.
"You look like a cult recruiter for a cult that ran out of membership forms."
Tarou's eye twitched.
A vein bulged comically in his forehead.
Then, without warning, he lunged.
Not gracefully.
Not powerfully.
Just… insistently.
"COME ON!"
"What the—!? Stop— hey!" Sora stumbled as Tarou grabbed him by the wrist with surprising force.
"Employment!" Tarou declared like a battle cry.
"No!"
"You need income!"
"Let go!"
"Nope!"
"Damn you—!"
The couch flipped over during the struggle. Something in the corner hissed. Sora nearly tripped on a can of instant noodles. But eventually, through sheer apathy, annoyance, and Tarou's unhinged persistence—
Sora gave up and let himself be dragged to the door.
"Fine!" he snapped. "I'll go see your stupid workplace!"
Tarou beamed. "Attaboy!"
"But I'm not signing anything."
"We'll see."
"I mean it."
"We'll see."
"I'm serious."
"Still seeing."
"I will punch you."
"Wouldn't be the first time today."
---
They exited Tarou's cramped apartment into the humid morning slums of what used to be a normal district decades ago.
The street was a patchwork of filth, neon signs, and propaganda posters. The pavement cracked like old skin. Vendors sold cheap noodles from stalls built out of scavenged metal.
Somewhere, an argument was happening. Somewhere else, a fight. Farther off, the muffled rumble of a Fault-induced explosion — barely enough for anyone to look up anymore.
Sora shoved his hands in his pockets.
His head still hurt from the awakening.
His mood was worse.
He watched a street screen flicker to life above them:
"FAULT-BEARERS: REPORT IMPULSES. REPORT DISCOMFORT. REPORT ANYTHING."
"FREE STATE THERAPY KEEPS US SAFE."
"AN UNBALANCED MIND IS A THREAT TO PEACE."
Crowds passed the screen without looking, each person with a blank expression carved by routine fear and exhaustion.
Sora clicked his tongue. "Propaganda's getting louder."
"Budget increase," Tarou said casually. "They love scaring people more than feeding them."
Sora glanced at a passing patrol unit: armored officers with blank visors, guiding a trembling young man into a van marked *Mandatory Stabilization Transport Mental Health Branch.*
"Fault user?" Sora asked.
Tarou sniffed the air. "Possible. Or he just yelled too loud in public."
Sora frowned. "Are you joking?"
"No."
Silence settled heavy for a moment.
Tarou kicked an empty can down the street. "Hey. Don't get moody. Rookie Fault bearers who go rogue get charity-grade treatment."
"That's… comforting?"
"Sarcasm," Tarou said. "They get shot."
Sora stared at him.
Tarou stared back.
Then Tarou added, brightly, "Good news is if they register you early, you're less likely to be on their 'shoot immediately' list."
"How reassuring," Sora muttered.
They passed a row of therapy centers. All of them gleaming, clean, government-funded — completely out of place among the grime.
A holographic nurse smiled from a rotating sign:
"WE TREAT EMOTIONS FOR A SAFER TOMORROW!"
Tarou spat gum at the hologram's face. It passed right through.
Sora snorted. "Real mature."
"That hologram owes me money."
"You're an idiot."
"Possibly!"
---
A man at a fish stall glanced up briefly as the pair walked by.
He recognized Sora's walk — the same restless posture every unregistered Fault user had.
He recognized Tarou's coat too.
His hands shook slightly.
"Tch… that man's still alive…?"
He bowed his head and resumed chopping fish.
Some people earned fear by reputation.
Tarou earned it by something worse — memory.
---
They approached an intersection where a billboard played a sanitized, cheerful animation explaining Faults:
Cute cartoon characters crying until they exploded.
Sora side-eyed it. "Do they really think this stuff works?"
Tarou shrugged. "Keeps normies scared enough to accept whatever solution they're given."
"You talk like someone who hates the system."
"Oh, I hate many things," Tarou said. "But systems? Nah. They're just tools. It's people who ruin them."
"Wow," Sora said. "Deep. For someone who lives in a trash pit."
"I prefer the term 'economically challenged mystic.'"
"You're a homeless chuunibyo."
Tarou put a hand over his heart. "Rude but accurate."
As they waited for a tram car to pass, Tarou casually leaned against a broken pillar.
"Listen, kid. Fault is… tricky. Emotions are fuel. You're a ticking bomb powered by your own irritation."
Sora frowned. "And you expect me to just… accept that?"
"What choice do you have?" Tarou said cheerfully. "You already killed someone. You're in the system. You're screwed unless you make the right allies."
"You say 'allies' like you're one of them."
Tarou grinned. "No. I'm a better option."
"You don't even have running water."
"I have running water *most* days."
Sora groaned.
---
Across the street, an armored patrol officer did a double take.
He nudged his partner.
The partner froze the moment they saw Tarou.
"…sir, should we report—"
"No," the first officer whispered. "If we report him, they'll ask us to talk to him."
"But he's dragging a kid—"
"That's none of our business. Just pray he doesn't notice us."
They both turned away, stiff as statues.
---
They finally left the slums and crossed into a mid-tier district where buildings looked slightly less diseased.
Tarou stretched his arms. "Almost there."
"Good," Sora said. "Maybe they'll actually be competent."
Tarou smiled like a man who knew a secret. "Oh, kid. You have no idea."
He slapped Sora on the back.
"Welcome to your future."
And they continued walking toward the building that would decide Sora's fate.
---
The elevator groaned as it climbed, each floor number flickering like it couldn't decide whether to display anything at all. Tarou hummed tunelessly beside Sora, leaning forward so close to the control panel that his hair almost brushed it.
Sora watched him from the corner of his eye.
"…You sure we're allowed in here?" he asked.
Tarou didn't look back. "I have a badge."
"You *stole* that badge."
"No, no. Borrowed."
"From who?"
Tarou shrugged. "Someone cooperative."
Sora sighed. "That means unconscious."
"Cooperative *enough*," Tarou corrected.
Despite himself, Sora snorted. It wasn't even funny—more like the exhausted type of amusement that came when the world refused to make sense and didn't even apologize for it.
The elevator dinged.
Floor 10.
Fault Regulation Bureau — Urban East Branch.
The doors slid open to reveal a too-clean hallway. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. The tile floor smelled faintly of disinfectant and something metallic beneath it—like a hospital pretending not to be a hospital.
Sora stepped out. Tarou followed, hands behind his head lazily.
He didn't speak right away, which surprised Sora. Tarou always had something weird to say.
Then the man murmured, almost thoughtful:
"Try not to look anyone in the eyes. They'll think you're an intern."
Sora blinked. "…And that's bad?"
"That's *worse*," Tarou said, lowering his voice. "Interns get dragged into safety drills."
"What's a safety drill?"
"You'll find out if you make eye contact."
Sora immediately stared straight ahead.
They passed a large glass window looking into a room full of grey-uniformed clerks. The workers typed on old terminals, their movements mechanical. A sign on the wall said:
FAULT SURVEILLANCE DEPARTMENT
"EARLY DETECTION SAVES LIVES"
Below it, smaller text:
**Mandatory Daily Emotional Reports: 06:00 / 12:00 / 18:00**
**Non-compliance = Investigation**
Sora shivered. "People actually report their emotions?"
Tarou nodded. "Of course. You don't?"
"Hell no."
"Good. Means you're sane."
The strange part was he said it casually, like he was talking about weather.
Sora looked again at the workers. Their faces didn't move much. Their eyes had that unfocused glaze—too calm, too flat. Like emotion wasn't part of the job.
He whispered, "They look dead inside."
Tarou leaned close. "Occupational hazard."
"What, the surveillance work?"
"No. The mandatory therapy ads."
Sora raised an eyebrow. "…The what?"
Tarou pointed at a cheerful poster on the wall:
"UNRESOLVED EMOTIONS?
TRY CALMEX™ — APPROVED FOR CHILDREN 6+!"
Sora grimaced. "Is that even legal?"
Tarou gave a lazy shrug. "Legal enough if you write the right reports."
That bothered Sora more than he expected.
He didn't know much about the world of Faults, but he already hated this one detail: they treated emotion like it was a disease.
His chest tightened.
He wasn't sure if it was fear or annoyance.
Maybe both.
---
A small metal door with no windows, no sign.
Just a single buzzer.
Tarou knocked instead of using it. A very specific rhythm.
*Tap. Tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap. Tap.*
Sora frowned. "What is that, a secret code?"
"Yes," Tarou whispered conspiratorially.
"Does it do anything?"
"No."
"Then why?"
"Because it confuses people inside."
The door clicked open.
A woman with sharp eyes and an even sharper bob cut stared at them. She wore a fitted black office blazer, and her expression suggested she hated 90% of her job but tolerated it through sheer willpower.
Her eyes flicked to Sora. Then to Tarou. Then back to Sora.
"Is… this the new one?" she asked flatly.
Tarou raised a finger like a magician revealing a trick. "Fresh out of a crime scene. Isn't he cute?"
Sora muttered, "Don't call me cute."
The woman ignored the protest. "Name?"
"Sora Daburu."
She typed something on a tablet. "Age?"
"Nineteen."
"Fault type?"
Tarou answered before Sora could. "Impulse-triggered manifestation with emotional override."
Her expression didn't change. If anything, it cooled a little more.
"Ah. A volatile one."
Sora's jaw tightened. "I'm not—"
"That wasn't an insult," she cut in. "It's a legal designation."
She stepped aside and gestured for them to enter.
The room inside was a clean, dimly lit evaluation chamber—simple desk, scanner pillars, and a wall of screens showing maps of the city with ripple-like patterns.
Sora murmured under his breath, "Feels like a prison check-in."
"It *is* a check-in," she replied. "Just not a prison."
A beat.
"Yet."
Sora slowly turned to Tarou. "…Explain."
Tarou scratched his cheek. "Welcome to the part where they decide whether you're a terrorist."
The woman winced. "Please don't use that term."
Tarou: "He needs to know."
Woman: "Not like that."
Sora raised a hand. "Wait, wait. Why would I be considered a—"
"Fault activation in public is classified as 'Potential Hostile Expression' until proven otherwise."
Her tone was matter-of-fact, but not cruel.
"Which means today could go in several directions."
Sora felt his pulse climb.
"So what? You drag me in here for an interview?"
"No," Tarou said cheerfully. "I drag you in here so your evaluation lands on *my* desk instead of someone who'd rubber-stamp you as unstable."
Sora stared. "You can do that?"
Tarou grinned. "I'm very respectable in the right circles."
Sora squinted at his cheap hoodie and half-broken shoes. "…Are you sure?"
"Yes," the woman answered instead. "He's one of the most dangerous men in this city."
Tarou waved dismissively. "Eh, depends on the day."
Sora mentally replayed the past hour.
Tarou walking like a vagrant.
Tarou stealing a badge.
Tarou talking about drills like they were housework.
Tarou intimidating him while wearing the fashion sense of an abandoned alley cat.
And *this* man was revered?
Sora muttered, "…What the hell kind of world did I get dragged into?"
Tarou patted his shoulder. "The kind where you'll do great."
The scary part was…
Tarou sounded sincere.
And for the first time since his awakening, Sora wasn't sure if that was comforting or terrifying.
Maybe both.
---