Sanae Hanekoma knew that he should probably be working.

However, since no one had come in to order anything in the past hour and it was such a nice day outside. . . well, he couldn't help himself, now could he? And he was right beside his shop, so he'd know if anyone did come in.

Hanekoma scratched the back of his neck, digesting his surroundings. The heads of Shibuya citizens bobbed up and down, as if part of a huge wave. He heard the rumblings of a car passing by somewhere. Whatever grass there was amidst the sea of pavement radiated a ripe green. Hanging over it all was a sky void of clouds.

The best part about it? No game was being held this week, so he could relax, even if for a little.

"-then prove it! Prove that they exist!"

His eyes flickered toward the voice. It belonged to a carrot-haired boy, perhaps eight or nine, looking smug. He was towering over a small boy, who looked to be five at the very most. The five year old was staring at the ground.

Finally the five year old mumbled something Hanekoma couldn't hear. But Carrot Head was being quite clear.

"Ha! So your friends don't exist, do they?" The second boy was silent. Carrot Head barked a laugh. "So that means you're stupid? Ya hear me? You're stupid!"

He didn't know why, but seeing Carrot Head bully the younger kid sent a flare of anger rising up to his neck. Bullying was something he didn't approve of. He found himself marching past a few shops and to the boys.

"I think that's quite enough," he barked. He stared Carrot Head straight in the eye, which made him drop his rude demeanor and acquire a

shocked, almost fearful one.

"I'm fairly sure you know that calling someone stupid isn't nice," he continued. "Now apologize to this kid and be off before I call your mom."

Carrot Head regained some of his earlier attitude. "Oh yeah?" he sneered. "Who's gonna make me? And I bet you don't even know who my mom is!"

A corner of Hanekoma's lip curled, and his pupils glinted. "I have fairly interesting connections. Because I've met a log of people, I can probably deduce who your mother is. Let's see. . ." he took a closer look at the boy, "red hair, overlarge ears, round face. . . I'm guessing your mother is Naomi Takashi. So that makes you Haru Takashi. Am I right?"

Haru's lip plummeted to the ground. He then mumbled an apology and walked off.

"Well, that takes care of him." He wiped his hands off as if just having done a particularly dirty job. He then turned to the five year old. "Hey kid, you all right?"

The kid didn't answer, so he took his silence as a chance to take him in. He was very small, almost scrawny, and a baggy purple shirt made him look even thinner than he already was. Ashy blonde hair topped a pointed face. Strange violet irises were sunken, as if he had seen things he never should have.

Hanekoma cocked his head, intrigued by the boy's appearance. He repeated the question, and the boy continued to do nothing but hang his head down.

"Know what?" he finally said, "you look like you need some cheering up. Come over to my place and I'll fix something up. Sound good?"

The boy squirmed, keeping his eyes downcast. "Mommy said I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

The café owner laughed and remarked, "Smart mom. Tell you what- my name's Sanae Hanekoma. I'm not exactly a stranger anymore, am I?"

The kid didn't say anything. Hanekoma decided to take that as a yes.

"Now come with me. Shop's just over there."

He turned around and began walking to his shop. He was halfway there when he looked over his shoulder; the kid was following him. He allowed himself a smile.

Once they got to WildKat, he held the door open for the boy. WildKat was a nice place, with orange walls, a tiled floor, a few tables and some stools lined up at a counter. Behind the counter was a few coffee machines and other various cooking instruments.

In no time at all, Hanekoma had made a simple hot chocolate for him. He handed it to the kid, who took the mug gingerly. He observed it closely, as if inspecting it for poison, then took a small sip.

"It's hot," he admitted after a while.

"Well, that's why they call it hot chocolate." He rested both of his forearms on the black countertop and leaned forward. "You know, I never learned your name."

The boy took another sip, then answered, "I'm Yoshiya, but my parents call my Joshua."

"So Joshua, then. Tell me; that other kid earlier. Does he usually bully you?"

Joshua set the mug down and shifted in his seat. The motion triggered a small squeak from the stool. "I. . . there are people I can see that no one else can. Even my parents just say that they're imaginary friends, but they're not. " His voice cracked slightly. "My imaginary friends don't have red numbers on their hands, or have freaky black wings, and they wouldn't be attacked by weird creatures."

Numbers on their hands . . . black wings . . . weird creatures. . .

This kid wasn't crazy, Hanekoma realized. He was seeing the Reaper's Game.

He could see the dead.

The epiphany came so quickly to him that he almost reeled over. Despite his effort to keep his shock contained, his eyelids backed up into his skull, and his lip dropped slightly.

So that was why . . . this explained a lot; why he was bullied, his nervousness, the dead look in his eyes. To have witnessed so many of these horrible things at such a young age . . . Hanekoma didn't even finish the thought.

Joshua played with his fingers, keeping his gaze even with the ground. "And now you think I'm crazy, too." His tone rang of sheer hopelessness.

Hanekoma's hand planted itself on his shoulder. At this, the five year old jumped as if someone had said "Boo!" and stared at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

Then he registered the man's face. It was darkened, almost gaunt, as if he'd suddenly aged ten years.

He was dead serious.

Joshua's widened eyes relaxed before he knitted his eyebrows. He had gotten many different kinds of reactions when he explained his predicament. Some had stared at him as if he'd begun speaking a different language; some had dressed their face with a false smile and told him that everything would be all right. Mostly, his secret was met with mocking laughter and pointing fingers.

But never before had he gotten a response like this, a grim face and silence to match. This guy didn't seem fazed in the least.

Hanekoma looked at him straight in the eye and said, "I believe you."

Joshua opened his mouth to say something, but he was too stunned to say anything. Hence, it clicked shut once more.

This allowed him to continue. "Trust me, I know exactly what you're talking about. You aren't hallucinating or anything. It's just that you have a special gift- not very many people can see what you can."

"And. . . you can see them as well?"

Hanekoma nodded. He let out a large exhale, removed his hand off of the kid's shoulder and then licked his lips. A smile began playing on his face once more. "Tell you what- come back tomorrow, and I'll tell you more about what exactly you're seeing. Does that sound good?"

Apparently it did, for the first time; a bright shine replaced the hollow look in his eyes. Joshua nodded eagerly.

That was the start of what would come to be a long and successful partnership.

No, no, no, no. This was all wrong. This wasn't supposed to happen, not to Sanae, not to either of them. He was supposed to be stronger than this, supposed to not be able to let this happen. All those things that were supposed to be possible instantly fell, just as the injured Angel had.

Perhaps it was the poison of hubris that had caused him to underestimate just how strong the Taboo-tainted assault would be. Maybe it was a simple miscalculation, the slightest of slips in his step that made the strike hit true rather than land a glancing blow. It might have simply been the universe's way of saying he should cease to exist.

Regardless of what exactly caused it, Sanae Hanekoma was now laying in a crumpled heap on the floor, blood flowing from a no-doubt fatal gash in his side, Taboo taint biting at the edges of the wound, preventing his holy powers from simply stitching it up. All of the pain roaring through his body mixed with all of the blood loss fogged his mind, keeping him from focusing enough to just blast the unholy influence from his body. Unable to do much, he tried to keep the air from irritating his exposed innards too badly while he thought of how this had come about.

The Angel had just sent the newly-revived Sho on his way to try to stop Joshua from eliminating Shibuya. After several moments of debating to himself, he decided to accompany him, if only to make sure that he would actually follow through with it. However, once the fight had begun, he couldn't help but throw himself into the fray as well, trying to protect his Composer. Unfortunately, he had severely underestimated the full powers of this new Sho, causing him to be clawed by the lion's large nails, tainting him with Taboo energies simultaneously. Joshua had managed to pin his attacker down with a well-placed vending machine and rushed over to his downed Producer.

The teen dropped to his knees beside the older man who was paralyzed in his place. Small fingers reached out to the bare ribs that could easily be seen, avoiding the lung that expanded and contracted weakly, aiming to try to eliminate the Taboo infesting his companion. However, as soon as his hand came near it, it was swatted away by the Angel.

"Only Angels can get rid of Taboo. You'll just end up tainting yourself too." He replied stubbornly, arm flopping back down to the floor. Ragged pants were interspersed between labored breaths, oxygen draining out of his body just like the crimson fluid leaking from his veins.

"Then what am I supposed to do?!" The Composer snapped back, rare emotion leaking out for the world to see. Shaking hands balled themselves up into fists and he gritted his teeth, unable to accept that he could do nothing.

Hidden eyes glanced off to a side, not wanting to see that his current state was the cause of his Composer's sorrow. "Nothing." He admitted reluctantly after a few moments, mouth barely able to form the words entailing his departure from this world. "Nothing can be done for me."

Pale hands clenched at the other's torn and ripped work shirt tightly, gripping it as though it would keep his Producer grounded in this plane of existence. "B-but… I, you…"

"Shhh…" The older man shushed the distraught teen, reaching out with one of his callused hands to hold his smaller one, gently brushing his thumb against the boy's knuckles. "No buts."

The blonde whined softly, leaning down to nuzzle at the large hand enveloping his own. "W-what am I supposed to do without you, my most loyal Producer?"

The Angel gave his closest friend a weak smile, feeling his life close to ebbing away completely now. "You already know what you should do." His other hand lifted up to the back of the ashen head, pulling it closer so he could bestow a goodbye peck on his forehead. Warm lips lingered there for a moment before parting to remind him of what he should do.

"Enjoy the moment…" And with those final words, the Composer felt the hand holding his vanish, familiar warmth surrounding him dissipating as his friend, his Producer, perhaps more, left his side that he had promised he would stay by, forever