Warning: This chapter contains depiction of self-harm

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"Well, fuck! Curse that cow! If that maggot is a real deal, we're in trouble!"

Those were the first sentences Kôra heard upon descending from his room to get breakfast. It was too early in the morning for vulgar swearing, the lamps on the dining floor were not yet lit. Keane was talking to someone by phone, which Kôra could not hear who he was talking to. He decided to eavesdrop.

“That’s it. . . Iota said so. . . Call the meeting soon, prioritize this!” Keane spoke in a lower tone, but still carries the same tension. "Huh? That's rubbish. She can suck my cock!"

Kôra listened to the half unheard conversation for a clue. It was the first time the boy heard him with such an impatient tone. Most of it was Keane complaining with a weird choice of words and outlandish figures of speech: why would someone suck a rooster? He must be drunk, hence the stale air with a hint of alcohol smell.

"I have told Miss Gawadzäl about it, but he hasn't responded," Keane said in a dejected tone. "Huh? He doesn't, the uncle knows nothing. He's just a dead weight."

Kôra recognized the name belonged to a Zötheian, it was a common name to a near stereotypical level. The last remark Keane made curbed his curiosity and molded it into exasperation. His uncle is not that bad.

“I'm not being selfish, I've never been selfish, this is for the organization's sake,” Keane argued with a collected intonation, holding back his impatience. Kôra pouted on how much lies those probably contain. “If it's real things will get disastrous, remember?"

The boy gasped, his posture erected. That sounded dire.

“Right? Great! He's helping us? Good. . . Oh? Fine. . . Later!" Keane seemed to  listen cautiously before he ended the call abruptly. "Don't forget my order, okay?"

Kôra could not follow anymore, questions started to brew in his head.

"Fuck," Keane cussed once the line had closed.

The guy glanced at the kitchen entrance, sensing a presence. "You can come and ask anything," he called.

Kôra came forth with surprise, he was sure about being unseen from such an angle. The boy peeked from the entrance just before Keane flicked the switch. He squinted his eyes to the sudden light, that was probably on purpose.

"What did Keane mean about 'disastrous' earlier?" Kôra asked straight to the point. "Will something about me cause disasters?"

"Only if we let unwanted people get something they seek from you," the fairy replied with a nod.

"So if they get it, disaster will come?" Kôra concluded. "So that is why I live hidden in a far village and Uncle is very worried about me? This is why my eye and ability are sealed? It is all about me?"

"You can think for yourself." He put his phone in his pocket.

The boy nodded while uneasy at heart.

"Worry not, we're preventing it together."

"Yes, Keane."

Keane checked on his phone. "I have things to do today: removing the mirrors, visiting your uncle and. . . Picking up my sister, I almost forget," he listed. "Take the spare card in case I'm late, it won't be long."

Kôra nodded again. He was even more unsure if Keane's sister was real or just another fictional character.

“Anyway Cabbage, let’s eat breakfast.”

“What for breakfast?” Kôra asked, following Keane.

Keane opened the slow cooker on the stove top. It was filled with steaming cabbage stew with chicken, carrot, and potato. “You.”

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There were still few people arriving in school; as usual Kôra came early. The class would not start soon; yet he could not let himself fell asleep. He went to the restroom in hope a quick face washing would energize him. Nobody was there. A slight vanilla smell emanated from an almost-closed stall, probably it was just cleaned.

Kôra undid his watch. He opened the faucet and contained the water in his palms. The cold which touched his face lifted up all the languor from every smallest pore. His face pulled by the icy sensation; a wake-up call.

He stared at the running water, dripping unconfined as his unruly thoughts. Beneath his composed facade, it was apparent that Keane is worked out after the talk; he repeatedly makes some phone calls and seems unrested. Uncle also still bothered even after moving from his house, as he called last night. Yet the one thorn that bothered his thought the most is what Keane said this morning:

There will be a disaster.

A disaster, like the earthquake.

A disaster because of him.

Kôra looked at himself in the mirror.

A disaster.

He is the disaster.

Disgusting being.

Nauseating.

Kôra clenched his fist and looked at the reflection in the opened mirror. If only he could bring destruction to the disaster. If only he could find the one to blame and punish it. End it, with this trembling first.

Hit, hit, hit it more. Jaw, cheeks, nose; fist bashed against those. It was not hard enough; it did not hurt enough. Pull, pull and more of his unevenly-colored hair strands were falling. Disgusting, nauseating, as he repeatedly said the words that hit hard inside his head. Disastrous, as his running thoughts devastated the last of his mental self-restraint.

Now he looked at himself; a hideous wretch staring behind the disheveled hair. The beaten spots started to numb and swell. His face was burning, thick, and grew heavy with the ache. It was not enough punishment, but at least enough of an achievement. He could look at himself in peace, thought him to his shaky hand.

Creak. . .

That boy flinched when he realized another person getting out from the stall, probably had witnessed it all. Kôra looked at speechless him in shock that recognizable face was Naldo. He held a smartphone in his right hand and a long rectangular device Kôra did not know in another hand. A white soft smoke came out from his mouth. Some students usually do not use the restroom as its supposed function.

At that moment, Kôra darted off with a broken mirror in his mind. The sound of it cracking and breaking was too loud for him, the shards of shame confused him. He did not know when to stop running, or to start slowing. It all fell apart as someone patted his shoulder from behind.

Naldo.

 "You the enchilada boy? Please fuck off!" Kôra shouted at his batchmate, slapping the hand that reached it. His face felt squashed with the radiating ache. It not only froze Naldo, but also some students nearby. They turned their heads in an instant, expecting a fight.

"Hey, chill," the black haired boy dissuaded, while his face cued confusion. "I'm just returning this." He waved out Kôra's handcrafted watch.

"I should not have yelled," he apologized.  Kôra stood with a blank expression for a while. How mortifying was it for him to cause such a commotion, and to  scream at an innocent person who just wanted to help.

"Need some help putting it on?" Naldo pointed at the watch in his hand.

"Thank you." Kôra took it from Naldo's hand with a shaky grip, and put it in his pocket as Naldo looked at him with questions.

"You forgot your lunchbox, notebook, and now this," he commented. "The nurse office is on the way to our classes, I'll return your stuff too." He smiled.

The two walked in an awkward silence. Kôra tried to walk faster so it did not like they are walking side by side. Yet, Naldo somehow always matched his speed on purpose.

Walking further to the point where no bystander was around, Kôra turned back to Naldo. "You saw it, right?" he whispered. "Keep it a secret."

"Anything else you want to keep a secret?"

Kôra looked up to Naldo's gentle smile. It was enough, the boy could not take it anymore. He shook his head.

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"Dianka, put your head on," Keane reminded. "We don't want to cause another crash."

"Right," Diana replied to her brother who was driving on her right side. She put her head back and fastened it with her pink choker, matching her burgundy blouse. A glance from the dashboard rear view mirror ensured her head was in a proper position. Her pointy ears gradually turned more humanlike in seconds, and obscured behind her red hair. The woman's features bear a strong resemblance to her brother, save for her rounder eyes and softer facial frame. She looked fresher than her pale brother, too; thanks to the recently applied lip tint and blush.

"So, the boy who's gonna stay with us was the mysterious baby Mrs. Meara adopted?" Diana opened a conversation. She has a different accent from Keane, which hers got watered down due to living longer in Sandur by comparison. The siblings used to have the same accent as she remembered. "I wonder how old he is now?"

"Fourteen this year, he'll be staying with us until his uncle stop being pathetic," her brother said. "Why? You don't mind, do you?"

"Um. . . I think it's a bit pointless to ask right now?" She rubbed her nails on the seatbelt.

"Oh! Silly me," Keane gave an acerbic reply. "Of course it's pointless asking you; it's my house after all."

"Doesn't he have any other family?" Dina asked once more. "No. . . Uh. . . Of course I don't mind him staying if he needs it, but where is the rest of his Tôryaemaen family?"

"They renounced him," the man elucidated, he paused himself because of an upcoming rumble strips. Dina's luggage on the backseat made noise as it shook; so did the spell paper box and two bags of snacks Haren gave for Kôra. "I tried to contact them: most don't answer, all ended up blocking me, one told me to go back to France."

"Why? I thought they'd stick together being cursed?"

"Marrying an Earth harlot and adopting a demonic foundling straight from the dumpster are unacceptable in this righteous society." Keane diverted his gaze for a second to a speeding car with tacky prayer stickers pasted on. That car accelerated to overtake two other vehicles from the left, recklessly, all in full speed. "Tch! People here are off their rocker."

"Will it be better if we send him to the earth?"

"Who'll take care of him?" the brother replied in a snarky tone. "Old Pádraig who had only seen him once from a photograph?"

"Well, He's his adoptive grandpa."

"Right, let's ship a homesick boy to some villageto live with someone he never met before," Keane said with a grunt following it. He tried to refocus himself on the road because they needed to switch lane soon. "Sigh, what would happen in the Earth if he was there."

"What about sending him to an orphanage?"

"Here? Animal shelters are better," he answered with a chuckle.

"Foreign orphanage? Foster family? Adoption?"

"I don't trust them; he's too old and not cute, anyway."

"Mercy kill?"

Keane smirked; that was a very fairy way of thinking. "If only it was that easy."

"I get it that he is our family friend, but you seem to be really concerned about him—so were our parents, their colleagues too. . . What's the deal with him?" Diana inquired, she rubbed the tip of her nails. "What will happen?"

"You can think for yourself, can't you?"

Diana thought for a second. She sighed. "And what will happen?"

"Maybe disasters."

"You answer everything just like Dad."

"So?"

"In fact, you're the only one of us who follows our parents' footsteps. . . It's worrying to see what's happening to you," she said, a sweat dripping from her cheek. "I'm thinking of becoming one of you, just so I know what you've been through."

"You have."

"But, not like you."

"If only you would die like Dad, so I wouldn't repeat what I did to Mom."

Diana covered his gaping mouth with her hand. The words seared. Where did the sentence come from, how did it cross his older brother's mind; she did not know. "Wh. . . What if I don't die?"

"Right, you won't die. Because you're a fucking shithouse. You'll run away like her," Keane stated bitterly. "That's not going to happen."

"Why do you talk like this?" she inquired with a rising voice. "Did. . . Did I upset you? Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry, let's talk about something else," Dina said with head bowed down.

"You didn't," Keane answered. "Just enjoy your dainty life and think of nothing, Dinochka," he added, with the name their mother used to call her with.

There was no something else to talk about; there was no more talk for the rest of it. Diana binged some baking videos on her phone to kill time. Now that they were out of the highway, Keane checked the time estimate on his car GPS: a 45 minutes drive to their destination if they followed their current route.

"We're taking a shortcut," Keane decided.