Amemura Ramuda is the charismatic designer behind 【Empty Candy】—a 1.5-billion-yen fashion brand run by a man who looks young enough to pass for an elementary schooler. To the youth of Shibuya Division, he's an idol. Bright smile, candy-sweet voice, not a care in the world.
It's all a lie.
Ramuda is a clone—a failed experiment from the Chuuou Ward's top-secret Project Mirror, one who committed the unforgivable sin of developing emotions. For twelve years he's stayed one step ahead of the Cleane
Sweet Lies and Bitter Truth - A flower of belonging, blooming in the rain
The rain was still falling.
A narrow back alley in Shibuya. Neon light leaking through the gaps between buildings dyed the wet asphalt purple. The smell of garbage, rain, and a faint trace of iron.
Amemura Ramuda sat slumped against the alley wall, his back pressed to the cold concrete, sliding down until he was on the ground.
His fluffy pink hair clung to the shape of his head, soaked through. Not a shred of his usual bouncing energy remained. His big, round amber eyes stared vacantly into the dark—so hollow it was impossible to tell whether they were open or closed.
The beauty mark beneath his left eye caught a single raindrop on his pale skin.
The candy necklace at his throat glinted dully.
(...I can't move anymore.)
Strength drained from his fingertips.
No—it had been gone long before now.
The special candy. The lifeline his body needed to keep functioning. Candy that could only be made in Jinguji Jakurai's laboratory—about twenty pieces a month.
He'd swallowed the last one yesterday, in the rain.
That was hours ago now.
Every cell in his body was screaming. His blood felt thick and sluggish, like it was turning to mud. His heart would skip—one beat, out of rhythm. And each time, something made a wet, ugly sound deep in his chest.
(...Cold.)
The rain was stealing his body heat.
No—it wasn't just the rain.
He was freezing from the inside out.
Bzz. Bzz.
His smartphone vibrated in his pocket.
Ramuda lifted his heavy arm.
His fingers wouldn't move right. He touched the screen several times before the message finally opened.
*You have no place left. Not in Shibuya, not in Ikebukuro, not in Shinjuku. There is nowhere in this world that will accept you. Disappear quietly.*
Sender: Unknown.
But he knew.
The Chuou Ward's Purge Bureau. Known on the street as the Cleaners.
Chuou Ward agents in all-black suits. The ones who hunted down clones with emotions—like Ramuda—to dispose of them off the books.
(...I know.)
Ramuda murmured it inside his head.
(You don't have to tell me that.)
(My place was never anywhere to begin with.)
(...Never was.)
His grip on the phone tightened.
His fingers went white.
(Defective.)
(A defective clone with emotions.)
(A failed product, thrown away by the Chuou Ward.)
(Someone like me could never hope for a place to belong—)
He stopped the thought there and closed his eyes.
He didn't want to think anymore.
He just wanted to melt into the rain and disappear.
He leaned against the alley wall.
Cold.
Hard.
But right now, the cold felt good.
(...Ah.)
(So this is how it ends, huh.)
His consciousness was fading.
Being dragged down into a dark, deep, bottomless void.
And then—
*—I just can't leave someone in trouble alone.*
Someone's voice surfaced in his mind.
Low, direct, stupidly warm.
Yamada Ichirou.
Representative of the Ikebukuro Division. Leader of Buster Bros!!!
The day they first met, at Yorozuya Yamada.
The man who'd called out to Ramuda when he'd stumbled under the weight of his packages.
"I just can't leave someone in trouble alone."
Ichirou's smile from that moment floated up behind his eyelids.
That innocent grin, fangs showing.
(...Why.)
(Why is his face the one I see now...)
Ramuda slowly opened his eyes.
The rain glittered at the edge of his vision.
*—Your place is here. Don't go disappearing on your own.*
The voice again.
Ichirou's voice, from last night when the Cleaners had attacked—when he'd scooped Ramuda up in his arms.
A voice full of anger, but somehow gentle, too.
(...Shut up.)
(...This has nothing to do with you.)
(I decide things about myself.)
Ramuda bit his lip.
The taste of iron spread through his mouth.
(I'm already...)
And then.
*Splash.*
At the alley entrance—the sound of a footstep in water.
Ramuda raised his head.
Beyond the curtain of rain.
Backlit by the neon glow, a man stood.
Short black hair with red streaks. Strong red eyes. Moles beneath his left eye and at the lower-left of his lip.
It was Yamada Ichirou.
Ichirou said nothing. He just looked at Ramuda.
His black hoodie was soaked through. His shoulders rose and fell with heavy breathing.
He'd run here.
He'd been searching the whole time.
Ichirou walked slowly into the alley.
The sound of his footsteps in the puddles echoed unnaturally loud in the quiet.
"...Don't come any closer."
A low voice slipped from Ramuda's lips.
His real voice.
The masculine, low voice that Ramuda usually hid with desperate care.
"This has nothing to do with you. ...Just go away."
Ramuda turned his face away.
He couldn't look Ichirou in the eye.
But Ichirou didn't stop walking.
He came right up to Ramuda and dropped to one knee on the rain-soaked asphalt.
Then he gently placed a hand on Ramuda's wet head.
A big, rough, warm hand.
"...Your place is something you get to decide for yourself."
It was a quiet voice.
So small it might have been swallowed by the rain.
But it reached Ramuda's ears clearly.
"Not some place someone else decided for you. The place you feel is *here*—that's your place."
Ichirou's hand stroked Ramuda's hair, gently.
Ramuda's breath caught.
His lungs stopped moving for a moment.
(...What are you saying?)
(I get to decide my own place?)
(That's...)
(That's not something I'm allowed...)
Deep in Ramuda's chest, something groaned.
Something that had been frozen solid was cracking, audibly, apart.
"...I'm a defective product."
Ramuda's voice trembled.
"A failed clone the Chuou Ward threw away. A defective with emotions. ...Someone like me couldn't possibly have a place to belong."
"You do."
Ichirou answered instantly.
"If you want to be here, then here is your place. That's all there is to it."
Ramuda bit his lip.
He fought desperately to hold back the tears.
(...Stop.)
(Don't be kind to me like that.)
(I betrayed you.)
(I destroyed The Dirty Dawg on the Chuou Ward's orders.)
(Your precious team—I was the one who...)
There was so much he wanted to say.
But the words caught in his throat.
The warmth of Ichirou's hand seeped slowly into Ramuda's frozen heart.
The cold of the rain seemed, just slightly, to ease.
"...Man, what a pain in the ass."
Ichirou gave a wry smile.
"When you make a face like that, I'm about to start crying too."
"...I'm not crying."
"You've got a face like you're about to, though."
"I said I'm not!"
Ramuda lifted his head and glared at Ichirou.
But his eyes were wet.
"See? Told you—you're about to cry."
Ichirou patted Ramuda's head, light and easy.
"...Idiot."
Ramuda muttered it, barely audible.
And then.
"Hey—found you, found you!"
A bright voice called from the alley entrance.
Ramuda turned. A man with messy brown hair came running through the rain.
Arisugawa Dice.
A member of Fling Posse. A gambling addict—and Ramuda's comrade.
"Seriously, we looked everywhere! Don't turn off your phone, man!"
Dice looked at Ramuda's face and grinned.
"...Ramuda. Thank god you're safe."
Behind Dice, another figure.
A man with the bearing of a scholar, his long black hair loosely tied back.
Yumeno Gentarou.
Also a member of Fling Posse. A novelist.
Gentarou looked at Ramuda's face and smiled, visibly relieved.
"...Gentarou. Dice..."
Ramuda looked back and forth between them.
"What's with that face? You're soaked—you look like a drowned puppy."
Dice crouched down in front of Ramuda.
"Let's make a bet."
Dice pulled a die from his pocket.
"If we win, you're our comrade. If you lose—no, even if you win, you're our comrade. Either way it lands, you're one of us. ...Well, that's basically the gist of it."
Dice shook the die in his palm.
*Rattle, rattle.*
The die tumbled across the rain-slicked asphalt.
It came up six.
"Perfect! You lose!"
Dice scooped up the die and thrust it toward Ramuda.
"The die has spoken. Starting today, you're one of us. No objections allowed."
Ramuda stared at Dice's face.
(...Why.)
(Why does everyone keep doing this...)
"You're a terrible liar."
Gentarou said it quietly.
"But what you just said—that was the truth, wasn't it?"
Gentarou's purple eyes glinted, as if seeing straight through to the bottom of Ramuda's heart.
"The truth is, you don't want to be alone. Am I wrong?"
Ramuda couldn't say anything.
He wanted to say *that's not true.*
But he couldn't.
Because Gentarou was right.
"Then just say it honestly."
Gentarou smiled, gently.
"We're your comrades. It doesn't matter to us what you are."
"Exactly! Clone, defective product—who gives a damn about any of that!"
Dice said it cheerfully.
"All we know is that you're one of us!"
Ramuda's chest tightened with a soundless squeeze.
Warm.
Painful.
Happy.
Sad.
Every emotion tangled together, swirling deep in his chest.
The tears spilled over.
He couldn't hold them back anymore.
"...I..."
A trembling voice escaped Ramuda's lips.
"...I want to be with all of you..."
His low, real voice.
His true feelings.
It was the first moment Ramuda had ever put his own wish into his own words.
"...I want to stay here... with you guys..."
Tears traced down Ramuda's cheeks.
They mixed with the rain until you couldn't tell them apart.
But Ramuda was definitely crying.
"...That's all you had to say."
Ichirou laughed.
That grin, fangs showing.
"You should've said that from the start."
Ichirou stroked Ramuda's head once more.
"Your place is here. In Shibuya. Right beside us."
Feeling the warmth of Ichirou's hand, Ramuda cried out loud.
Like a child.
In the rain, in the back alley.
Surrounded by his three comrades.
Ramuda had finally found his place.
...And then.
*Bzzz, bzzz, bzzz!*
Ramuda's smartphone vibrated violently.
Ramuda looked at the screen through tear-swollen eyes.
A message had arrived.
Sender: Unknown.
It was from the Cleaners.
*Report to the Chuou Ward at dawn. If you refuse, we will expose the fact that you are a clone to the entire city. We will erase your very existence from this world.*
The blood drained from Ramuda's face.
His fingertips trembled.
"...Do I have no choice but to go?"
Ramuda clutched the phone with shaking hands.
"You don't have to go anywhere."
Ichirou said it with force.
"We'll stop them together. Your place is the place you decided on. Don't let anyone take it from you."
"Ichirou's right. You're not alone anymore."
Gentarou nodded quietly.
"Hell yeah! Cleaners, whatever—bring 'em on!"
Dice grinned too.
Ramuda looked at the three of them.
All of them were serious.
They were ready to fight for him.
(...I won't run anymore.)
Ramuda swore it in his heart.
Then he pulled a single business card from his pocket.
*Yorozuya Yamada — Yamada Ichirou*
The card Ichirou had given him the day they first met.
He'd never been able to throw it away. He'd kept it all this time.
Ramuda gripped that card tight.
The rain-soaked card crinkled in his hand.
But Ramuda didn't let go.
That was his resolve.
The four of them walked west through central Shibuya in the rain.
Shibuya Underground. An eight-kilometer stretch of subterranean streets spreading beneath Shibuya, where the Chuou Ward's surveillance had trouble reaching.
They were headed for one of its entrances.
The rain had let up a little compared to before.
But it was still falling.
Ramuda walked beside Ichirou.
He glanced up at Ichirou's profile.
Black-streaked hair, wet with rain.
Red eyes staring straight ahead.
(...Why does this person go this far for me?)
Ramuda had wondered it all along.
"...Hey, Ichirou."
Ramuda called out in his real voice.
"Hm?"
Ichirou turned toward him.
"Why do you go this far for me?"
Ramuda looked straight into Ichirou's eyes and asked.
"I betrayed you. I destroyed The Dirty Dawg. ...And yet, why would you..."
Ichirou was silent for a moment.
Then he gave a small laugh.
"Isn't it obvious?"
Ichirou placed his hand on Ramuda's head with a light *pat*.
"Because you're my comrade."
Hearing those words, something deep
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