Mr. Yamada and his happy foursome have evidently dumped a lot of information about us students into poor Ikoma-san's mind. I know this because while running a search on Shun's name, entries labeled with other students' names keep popping up. He is listed under the "Best Friend" section for Kadowaki Daisuke, and the "Roommate" section for all the guys in our class in alphabetical order. I also find him in the "Favorite Student" section of English teacher Mrs. Charles and feel kind of bad for her because I (as a certified stalker) know for a fact that Shun usually spends most of English class throwing paper airplanes at Jin, sleeping, or doodling obese aliens on the corners of textbook pages.

Since so many search results came up, Izumi and I have to practically wade through all the entries. Reading up on info in data boxes (at least this one) is quite different from reading up on info in front of a computer. The words, strangely enough, seem tangible, like you can reach out and touch them. In fact, to get from one entry to the next, we have to hop over or sidestep paragraphs, like we were in an obstacle course. There is probably a quicker way to navigate through this mess, but as no one has ever taught us about information in data boxes (screw them teachers), this is the best we can do.

For example, we currently have to shove floating words aside to make our way through Yukiya's profile—it appeared in our search results since Shun is his roommate. It's a detailed, organized profile, with every section properly tagged and labeled—name, birth date, birth place, appearance, personality, strengths, weaknesses, likes, dislikes, fears. Of course "fears" would have its own section—Mr. Yamada's crew, after all, needed to keep track of all our fears so as to know how to break us the best.

As I kick Yukiya's birthdate to the side so that I can walk past the section, I remember Shun mentioning fears being "saved" in his head when he was used as a human flashdisk. He said he had to go through all those fears as a process of storing the information—did that happen to Ikoma-san too?

I decide to ask. "Ikoma-san, did you have to undergo all the fears of different people when they were stored inside your head?"

Ikoma Four's reply comes slowly and ponderously.

"Ah, fear yes, I undergo yes. I has see lot of fear. Bad one, I has see. Most bad one is bury in a hole of worm. All worm, no escape. That one most bad."

No wonder he's insane. If I had to undergo ten years worth of this sort of experiences I'd be insane too.

"How could those fears hurt you when they were stored in your head, though? They appear to be just words," Izumi points out as she crouches down so as to avoid bumping into the section detailing Yukiya's blood type (AB).

"Yes, they words!" Ikoma Four argues. "But! Head process information different from computer. Human head can feel, computer do not feel. You try for yourself, it easy, you touch it and feel. You try try."

I'm not sure how to "try try", but I experimentally extend one hand to touch the floating words I'm surrounded by, and the second my fingers sweep past the capital F of the "Fears" section, I am no longer in the data box.

I am standing by what looks like a school swimming pool, amongst a group of boisterous elementary school boys. Reassuringly enough, Izumi is beside me, and I grab her hand for emotional support even though school swimming pools and boys aren't that scary.

Everything seems faded, yellowish, like it had been layered with several Instagram filters. The boys push and shout, and I begin to wonder what this is all about and what this innocent, nostalgic late-summer day has to do with fear, until Izumi elbows me and points.

In front of the crowd is Yukiya, an elementary school version of him. Even smaller than he is now (and he is already quite small for a guy), all skin and bones, with the same dark and stormy features. I notice a bruise on his arm and wonder how that came about.

The answer presents itself to me within seconds. A boy, much bigger than Yukiya (he's even bigger than me, which is saying something since he can't be more than ten and I'm at the ripe old age of sixteen), shoves him to the ground. 

School bullies. No wonder Yukiya has bruises.

The other boys soon follow, and in no time Yukiya is in the clutches of three, maybe four of them, swinging him by his limbs and laughing like insane parrots.

"Toss him in," the big one orders.

"No, no, please no," little Yukiya begs.

Yukiya never begs. He's not one to back down from anything, not one to surrender. And here he is, begging for mercy in the most pathetic way possible.

The crowd bursts into appreciative laughter at his pleas. Little Yukiya is holding back tears, though I suspect it is not because of the humiliation. Yukiya would spit in the face of humiliation.

It's just that he's this close from being thrown into the pool and I know for a fact that he can't swim.

"Stop it!" 

Izumi's shrill scream breaks the silence. She marches up to the biggest boy, pushing through the crowd.

Trying to push through the crowd, I mean. Pushing has no effect, apparently.

"They can't hear us and shoving is no use," she turns around and tells me in exasperation. "We probably don't exist here."

I nod and swallow hard. We don't exist. We can't save Yukiya.

And so all we can do is stand and watch as the boys, with a triumphant hurrah, swing Yukiya straight into the deep end of the pool.

I've had a near-drowning experience before, back when I was in maybe second or third grade—I forgot. It wasn't pleasant to say the least. It was lucky that a teacher helped me out of the school pool; Mr. Eto, I remember his name was. Too bad I never had the chance to give him a proper thanks—he resigned from the school a week later or something. I can't remember the details; it was too long ago. But I'll always remember Mr. Eto's name, because it isn't proper manners to forget someone who saved your life.

The near-drowning experience didn't traumatize me much, probably because it was just an innocent incident. I fell into the pool simply because I wasn't being careful, and was rescued by someone nice. However, I can totally understand how Yukiya's experience could be tons more traumatizing, and why water has become his worst fear.

I mean, he was thrown in by vicious bullies who hated his guts. Who laughed as they watched him struggle. Who mimicked his panicked flailing and cat-called every time he surfaced. Who gave each other high-fives as his strength ebbed away and his life left him in a trail of bubbles. If elementary school students of that time had phones (they didn't) they would probably have filmed the whole process and posted it online so people could laugh some more.

Izumi has already covered her face, unable to watch any longer. I would have done the same, but the scene, I realize, is rapidly changing. Before we get to see Yukiya being saved (because he must have been saved—how else would he still be alive and our classmate?) we are already somewhere else.

The somewhere else being somewhere quite familiar.

We're in our school cafeteria. Yukiya sits alone at a table, morosely digging into his curry rice.

"Doesn't he usually sit with us?" Izumi queries. Yukiya indeed does sit with us. After all, the whole class sits together (there aren't that many of us), except for Anna who has lunch in the library.

But here, Yukiya sits alone. And then we realize why as an overly-excited Jin races by, singing gibberish. I instinctively reach out to him, but he passes right through me.

He can't see me, and I feel my heart break.

Izumi nudges me. "This is Jin almost one year ago. His hair got longer later."

"So that's why Yukiya is eating alone," I whisper, trying to contain my emotions of seeing such a carefree Jin, so unaware of what is to come. "He didn't use to eat with us until—"

I can't remember until when exactly. All I know is that somehow Ririka has managed to talk him into doing it and very soon he has his own favorite spot at our table, always guffawing at things Shun said and throwing random food fights with Daisuke.

Ririka appears, right on cue, and dramatic music comes on. I'm sure this is happening only in Yukiya's mind because our cafeteria doesn't play music as heavenly as that.

It's like harps and silver bells and angels singing as Ririka happily skips down the corridor like the little fairy she is and sets down her tray beside Yukiya, who glares up at her with eyes like burning coals.

"What are you doing here?" he demands.

"You could use some company," Ririka chirps matter-of-factly and begins to sip her miso soup.

"I don't want any company," Yukiya states, rolling his huge, angry eyes so hard that I'm surprised they haven't fallen out of their sockets.

"I do," Ririka calmly counters, "I want to own a clothing designer company."

Yukiya sighs melodramatically. "Suit yourself. Just don't expect me to become all buddy-buddy with you."

Ririka doesn't seem at all troubled by the response. She hums cheerfully to herself, long eyelashes casting shadows on her pinchable cheeks, dimples showing occassionally as she attacks her soup with relish.

Yukiya watches. His thick eyebrows are furrowed and he looks like a little storm cloud, but the harps and silver bells and singing angels say otherwise.

He doesn't want to lose her.

He can't ever lose her.

And then Izumi suddenly speaks into my ear, making me jump. We are back in the data box again, with Moosie the cat still snoring softly behind us.

"That's how they know his worst fear," Izumi summarizes. "They have access to our memories, I think, and from there they infer our worst fears."

"Then thank goodness they can't access mine!" I exclaim. It's not like I have very unique memories or anything but still it could get kind of embarrassing. "I don't even know my worst fear though, so I actually have no idea what memory they'd pick to work off of if they could."

"I have a very good idea which memory of mine they picked," Izumi says softly by my side. "I mean, I have a number of memories that I don't particularly enjoy recalling, but judging from how they put witches in my head, it's probably that one."

"Which one?"

"You should see it. It in the next search result, so you're bound to pass by it anyway," Ikoma Four prods, but Izumi quickly shakes her head.

"There's no time, Shun is—"

"Naw, it take no time. Data in head all in one instant. You see it, seem long time, actually it take no time."

If Ikoma Four says so, it's probably right. He's the expert with data in heads, after all.

"Do you mind?" I ask Izumi. "Like, if you don't want me to see it, then—"

"I want you to see it," Izumi says quietly. "I want you to see what I used to be."

I have never seen her look this downcast, but I decide that it's probably better to get it over with.

So I hold on to her arm supportively as we find our way out of Yukiya's entry and head into the Fear section in Izumi's.