in another lifetime
Title: in another lifetime
Fandom: Nino with a small cast cobbled between Arashi/Kanjani8/TOKIO; Matsumiya friendship, hints of Nino/Subaru (Johnny's RPS)
Rating: PG
Genre: Slice-of-life, fantasy
Word Count: 4,336
Summary: Nino lives in one universe among many, and he's one of the few people who knows it.
Warnings: non-linear storytelling, logic? what logic?
Notes: Written during ninoexchange 2015, originally posted here. This is a travel AU of sorts! Also very vaguely an office AU! And totally, utterly incoherent either way. Thanks to elfiepike for being so everything whenever I need her.
When Nino gets into the office that morning, he impatiently sweeps aside an empty tea bottle and some energy bar wrappers, nabbing his computer mouse and jiggling the monitor awake. He's a man who typically stays organized simply because he doesn't have many objects taking up room, but the one exception is his desk at work, where the only semblance of order doesn't exist in real, physical space.
The office is where many exceptions happen. It's where Nino reaches out to worlds around him without leaving his seat, where he connects the dots between one moment and the next as if they're a puzzle to be solved instead of the living, breathing, day-to-day of complete strangers. Nino settles into his seat and puts on his headset, sifting through case files of interest for any notable changes, greeting his travelers with a "good morning" they can't respond to aloud.
Nino's computer screen has rows upon rows of documents on display, lined up like teeth on a delicate tortoiseshell comb, every file in the specific logical order Nino assigned to each folder, because that's how he stays on top of his work. Other dispatchers organize their files differently, he knows, but he's not really interested in what other dispatchers do. He doesn't need to care about what doesn't affect his performance.
Nino adjusts the operation manual that's sitting askew at the corner of his desk. It's been years since he opened it, the abused spine and crinkled edges showing the telltale signs of age, but it gives him comfort the few times he needs it to know that there's a reason behind what they do at the office.
He's made a habit out of checking old case files, too, sorted in a different partition on his computer. When he knows that one is reaching its three-month idle limit, he'll click-click to that folder and wait, and his breath will catch when the file blinks away, automatically purged from the system, a universe lost forever until it wants to be found again.
.
As is the case with most of the encounters he regrets, Nino meets him at a bar. Nino has his head down low, in deep conversation with the diluted glass of whiskey in front of him, fingers curled tentatively over the rim. The air shifts as a stranger slides up to the bar beside him.
"Whatever he's having," the stranger says.
"It's just some shitty whiskey," Nino replies, still staring at the bottom of his glass, his throat struggling to work around the words after not having spoken for hours.
"Great. That's exactly what I need right now."
Nino turns his head to look up at the stranger, some guy in a dark suit who's giving him a mildly amused look, his lips quirked. He's otherwise fairly plain and regular-looking, though Nino will admit that everyone looks the same to him at this point. "Did you have a bad night or something?" the stranger asks, the tone of his voice betraying his disinterest.
Nino's had a bad life, really. "Same as usual. I just drank too much." Nino can tell that the stranger knows he's lying; he can also tell in the way his eyes shift that the stranger knows that Nino's watching.
The stranger nods absently at the bartender as he places a glass of whiskey in front of him. "What do you do for a living?"
Nino shifts in his seat, leaning back just enough to pretend he's sitting upright. He puts an elbow up on the bar and tilts his head into his palm. "I drink at bars and do card magic for middle-aged guys like you."
The stranger grins, lifting his glass and resting it against his lips. "You want a job?" His eyes twinkle as he takes a small, elegant sip of his drink.
Nino knows better than to trust him. "At least tell me your name first."
.
Kokubun Taichi says that he doesn't know who started it, but he's the man in charge of continuing what they do. As the senior dispatcher, he sits at the front desk of their office, working his cases and coordinating with their engineers to ensure technological maintenance and confirm that all of their systems are running smoothly.
Nino's only bothered by it for the first week, but like Kokubun before him, he accepts the fact that they'll never know where it all began, how they were chosen, or who decided it needed to happen in the first place. In a way, they do God's work, or maybe the devil's work, one small event at a time. But in the grand scheme of things -- and Nino's gotten used to thinking about how grand this scheme actually is -- it's the same work every day. Nino doesn't mind the tedium, even starts to enjoy it, because as long as he knows he's working toward some distant goal of ultimate good, he's happy to be a cog in the machine.
Besides, the cases are interesting.
A sturdy-looking man by the name of Murakami is the other incoming dispatcher who's brought on board at the same time. Kokubun introduces them to each other, and then to their work. They're in a Shinbashi high-rise, a small office on the sixth floor with nothing on the walls but a simple circular clock, prim white and matte black, front and center behind Kokubun's desk. Somewhere downstairs, their building mailbox is a barren silver slate, unmarked and untouched, as if no one even exists on their floor.
Each of the dispatchers has a workstation: a desktop system with double computer monitors, standard writing utensils should they need them, their outboxes for daily reports, and the manual. Over time, Nino imagines, the desks get buried under stacks of files and personal effects, much like Matsumoto's desk next to Nino's, but Nino's confident that his workspace will remain the way it is when he first gets it; he doesn't have much stuff anyway.
They each have at their disposal a small team of travelers, who jump in and out of universes as guided by the dispatchers to adjust what's been knocked out of alignment. They don't travel through spacetime, not really. The manual tells them to think of it more like rewinding and fast-forwarding, pausing the earth on its axis just long enough for people to get into position to make a difference.
And in the end, making a difference is better than delighting salarymen with his card magic at a bar where his tab is so large it requires its own seat at the counter, so Nino listens to the explanations the same way that Murakami seems to be listening next to him. To say that he has a hard time fully wrapping his mind around what they'll be doing is an understatement, but if this is how Nino picks himself up after being laid off from a place where he only felt like a number, then he's willing to see where it goes.
"How's that Ohno fellow coming along?" Murakami asks one day during their lunch break.
Nino simply looks up from his cup of instant noodles with a blank expression on his face. Their cases aren't confidential -- in fact, the manual encourages them to share details so that they can act as backup in case an emergency arises -- but given the nature of their work, it's hard to talk about each case as if it doesn't have a multitude of realities happening simultaneously.
Murakami seems to catch the look on Nino's face, and he grins sheepishly around the corner of his sandwich. "Sorry -- I mean the one where he's an artist. He has an exhibition coming up soon, doesn't he?"
Nino nods and slurps, the broth splattering between his lips. "He seemed to be having trouble appreciating his impact on the world, so the other day I had Sho-chan accidentally kick a kid's ball in Ohno's direction. The kid noticed the painting Ohno was working on, and she promised to go to the exhibition when it opens." Nino pauses to slurp up more noodles, chewing slowly as he considers Ohno's estimated trajectory. "Should keep him on track for a while."
Murakami nods in appreciation. "What else does he do again? He's a baker?"
"And a high school soccer coach. Probably you in another lifetime, too," Nino says with a lopsided grin, and Murakami bats Nino on the head gamely with a loud laugh, his amusement booming through him like it's exploding directly from his chest.
It's a running joke that the dispatchers have among themselves: that they have multiple lives like the cases they work on, multiple universes where they can be -- are, in fact -- anything they can imagine. It's a joke to them because humor's the only way to confront how true they all know it to be.
Nino's favorite case of Murakami's to hear about is the one with the grumpy thirty-something who's a guitarist in a band. Nino imagines that in another life he's also a grumpy thirty-something who's a guitarist, and maybe they're in rival bands, or maybe they meet and grow to be close friends. As far as Nino knows, dispatchers never actually run into the cases their team is working on -- and they definitely aren't allowed to seek them out -- so all he has to work with is his imagination and the knowledge that despite being able to literally travel through space and time (or, well, manipulate it like a DVD player), they can only do so much.
Murakami's main traveler on that case is Nishikido, who seems to be as attached to Shibutani Subaru as Nino is, despite neither of them ever having met the man. Nishikido's good friends with one of Nino's travelers, Yasuda, and despite enjoying his time alone more than his time with other people, sometimes Nino wishes he could just wrap himself up in their universe instead of the one he's in on the other side of the headset. But maybe in another universe they're already friends, and Nino already goes drinking with them just long enough to feel jolly before they start getting rowdy and bellowing their Kansai at the bars.
Nino looks at the clock on the wall, clicking slowly with each passing second. Even only a few weeks into the job, time has stopped being a concern for Nino. He's not sure if that means he's well-suited for it after all or if he's just a victim of a very terrifying psychological experiment, but he's found a strange kind of peace in the way the five hours left in his shift really mean nothing at all these days.
.
III. Establishing Contact with Cases
1. Connecting with Your Traveler
Each Case is assigned up to three (3) Travelers. In order to connect with the Travelers assigned to the Case you would like to update, say a greeting slowly and clearly into your headset. (For instructions on adjusting your headset, refer to II. Equipment.) When a connection has been established, your Travelers will hear your voice in their heads but may not respond out loud depending on their surroundings or circumstances. (For more information on building a relationship with your Travelers, refer to V. Traveler Management.)
2. Adjusting Spacetime
You will be responsible for ensuring that the Spacetime modifications made in order to complete contact with your Case have been accurately inputted into your Travelers' relay equipment before they establish contact. Each Spacetime movement must be calibrated based on distance, time of day, and duration of activity. (For movement calibration specifications, refer to Appendix C.)
Confirm with your Travelers that the movement calibrations on their equipment match the calibrations calculated in your Movement Strategy (Template B) before commencing activity.
3. Delivering Instructions
Your Travelers will depend on you to dictate their movements in order to establish indirect but meaningful contact with the Case. Remember that your Travelers are not to make direct contact with the Case. After your Travelers have performed the actions as determined in your Movement Strategy, allow up to one hour to confirm that the actions have resulted in the intended trajectory. In case of misaligned trajectory, develop a new Movement Strategy to be executed no fewer than 24 hours and no more than 48 hours following initial failed contact.
All contact with Cases must comply with the operation guidelines. Refer to I. Operation Guidelines.
.
Nino has had plenty to think about as a dispatcher. The very idea that they've been saddled with the responsibility of changing the trajectory of entire human lives with simple actions is beyond the scope of anything Nino's ever had to consider before. He's still not sure what brought Kokubun to him that night so long ago -- and maybe Kokubun doesn't even know himself, and maybe it wasn't actually that long ago; Nino's lost his sense of both free will and internal time-keeping -- but whatever the reason he got to where he is now, he has no intention of giving the job less than his all.
He's had a chance to get to know the small team in that Shinbashi office -- so small, in fact, that Nino wonders how many other offices like theirs must exist throughout Tokyo, Japan, even worldwide. In the dispatchers' room, it's just the four of them: Nino, Murakami, Matsumoto, and Kokubun, coming in at different times to work their daily shifts as coordinated with their travelers. Surely they aren't an independent operation, considering how few of them there are and how many cases with how many universes must exist in the world. But there's no intelligence on whether there's a united front of dispatchers making trajectory adjustments, and certainly there's nothing in the manual that tells them how to find others doing what they're doing.
All they have is the data in front of them, the changes they've put into motion, the points of friction where the universes branch off like marbles colliding, where suddenly one case leads two parallel lives: a life that was steered down the right path and a life has to suffer the consequences of going where it shouldn't have, times infinity.
Matsumoto comes back into the office with some tea from the hallway vending machine, placing a bottle on Nino's desk next to his stack of outgoing reports.
"Thanks," Nino mumbles, his eyes still scanning the case files on his computer monitor. He continues his analysis for an extended moment before he turns toward the proffered refreshment. It's lukewarm in his hand, but Nino doesn't mind that: a drink is a drink, and he twists the cap open before squeezing a few gulpfuls into his mouth. When he comes back down, he meets Matsumoto's eyes, considering his words for a moment before continuing.
"So why are you here anyway?"
Matsumoto snorts good-naturedly. "Blunt, aren't we?"
Nino shrugs. It's been bothering him for as long as he's known the other man... however long ago it was they met. "You don't strike me as the kind of person who just does what he's told without understanding why he's doing it, or what's behind it all."
He gets a raised eyebrow for that comment. "And what makes you say that?" Matsumoto asks, piqued.
"The way you handle your cases, maybe." Nino crosses his arms over his chest, an unconscious action as he folds his words in on themselves like dough before stretching them back out into his point. "You seem very intent on understanding the logical cause-and-effect behind everything your travelers do."
"Ahh," Matsumoto responds, nodding sheepishly. "Though that's only natural, right?" He straightens his posture as he tosses the question back at Nino.
Nino doesn't care about the details nearly as much as Matsumoto does. As long as the action complies with the guidelines and the final trajectory lines up with his strategy, he's not going to spend his time fussing about what came in between. He swivels in his chair to the left and to the right again before making a noncommittal noise.
Matsumoto smirks. "I guess you aren't convinced."
Nino maintains eye contact and tilts his head to the side, feigning thought. "Maybe you just want to help people lead the lives they deserve to lead. How sweet, Jun-kun."
Matsumoto's face darkens considerably and he clicks his tongue. "This bastard."
Nino laughs, boisterous, and Matsumoto grins despite himself before returning his attention to the computer in front of him.
.
Nino likes to see how many parallel universes for one case he can keep going at the same time. During each universe's idle time still in the system, dispatchers can keep track of the trajectories and make adjustments as necessary, but after they're purged from the system, those universes run on autopilot.
What this means, essentially, is that Nino and the rest of the dispatchers are charged with playing a lifelong game of chess for each case. The challenge is to think as many steps ahead as possible, to the point where even on autopilot all of the infinite universes for one case won't intersect until the case's final expiration.
Of course, without supervision to keep coincidences and other universal fluctuations in check, universes can and do eventually bend and twist enough to intersect with other universes. Nino used to just think of it as déjà vu -- that feeling of recognizing a place or space or situation as something that's already occurred -- but he knows better now. That feeling is universal overlap. That feeling means that he's failed his self-prescribed challenge, and he'll have to send a traveler out into that case's life again to put everything back in alignment.
What's worse is that once universal overlap has occurred, the risk of being unable to use the same traveler increases: once the same traveler is used in multiple universes for the same case, the chances of their being recognized, their becoming an established part of that case's universes, increases exponentially, and Nino risks losing a viable traveler just because he and the case have become friends.
It's hard and complicated work with a plethora of rules to follow, but Nino revels in it.
Ultimately, Nino keeps himself busy enough that he doesn't have to think about the implications of the work that he does. Being a dispatcher means that all of the travelers and cases he's come to know and maybe even care about can never be a part of his life; his appearance in their lives will irrevocably change that universe, and that much he can logic through without the manual.
But it's not something he needs to fuss over. He doesn't really need people anyway.
.
Dispatcher: 174
Case: 0087 ["OHNO Satoshi"]
Universe: 0215
Lead Traveler: 22760 ["SAKURAI Sho"]
Secondary Traveler(s): None
Movement Strategy: 0087-2011B28912
Today I noticed some strange activity in Universe 0215, and I determined that it had overlapped with previously inactive Universe 0013. Ohno was walking through a park and seemed to be having distinct memories of watching kids at a playground, congruent with Universe 0013 in which he's a preschool teacher.
I issued a 27-minute rewind to put Sakurai in place, a salaryman on a walk during his lunch break. Five minutes prior to indirect contact, Sakurai walked by the mothers and talked on the phone about a dream he'd had recently, and the mothers in turn talked about their dreams among themselves as Ohno passed. I was able to observe Ohno making the assumption that his feeling of remembrance was a dream based on something his sister had told him about her young son.
Will continue to monitor Universe 0215 for any further overlapping with Universe 0013.
.
The best thing about nights out with a senpai is that they can depend on him to pay without having to ask for it. Kokubun offers to take them out for whatever they want, whatever they're hankering for; Nino is not one to hanker, particularly over food, but he does know that what's free is delicious, so he'll tag along for whatever the others have in mind.
They end up having yakiniku, because everyone loves yakiniku. Matsumoto takes it upon himself to grill for the group, and Nino idly calls him "YakiJun" as he watches him expertly handle the meat on the grill. Matsumoto narrows his eyes at him through a cushion of flame and smoke, and he threatens to give Nino all the burned meat before serving him a piece that is, in fact, cooked to perfection. Nino smiles at him like a child, eyes clamped shut, all big teeth and bright innocence, and Matsumoto tips the tongs at him with a stern wrist, telling him to just eat already.
They talk shop because it's rare for all four of the dispatchers to be in the same place as once. What's funny is that so many of their travelers are friends in one universe or another: Nino's Yasuda constantly spends time with Matsumoto's Ohkura and Maruyama, and Murakami's Nishikido and Yokoyama join in occasionally. Kokubun calls them an idol group in another life -- "But what would they even sing about? Takoyaki?" -- and Nino says they can join that case Subaru's band.
"You really like that guy, don't you?" Murakami says, shoveling rice into his mouth and then continuing to talk before he finishes swallowing. "You're almost as obsessed as Ryo is."
Matsumoto grunts his agreement around a mouthful of meat, his lips glistening. "He's right. You talk to me about him sometimes, and he isn't even your case."
Nino laughs, letting his words of denial roll across the table like tossed dice. He can feel Kokubun's eyes on him, but when he turns to face him directly, his eyes are averted, his face conspicuously oblivious behind the beer he's drinking.
"Do what you want," Kokubun says finally with a shrug, finally looking at Nino with earnest eyes as if Nino's seriously troubled by feelings he may or may not have for another dispatcher's case. "You know the rules, but you know I'm not going to enforce them."
"That's right!" Murakami pounds his fist into his palm like a drama detective. "You're friends with some of your travelers and cases, aren't you?"
Kokubun grins, wickedly satisfied with himself. "In another universe we build houses together."
Matsumoto's phone buzzes then, and the laughter subsides as they watch him answer it. "Mm, Aiba-kun? Yeah, at that place you like... Mm..." Matsumoto looks around at the group, seeming to seek their approval, so Nino makes his ugliest grimace and shakes his head vehemently just because he can. Matsumoto rolls his eyes before speaking again. "Yeah, come by when you're done with the equipment check." Matsumoto meets Nino's eyes. "We're all really looking forward to seeing you."
.
Congratulations on being selected as a Dispatcher. The purpose of this manual is to provide instructions on and guidelines for conducting Dispatch work. You are responsible for ensuring that this Universe, and the lives of the Cases within it, are aligned in such a way that the whole of humanity is able to realize its fullest potential.
Take on this role with pride. Your efforts are very important to us.
You are
Dispatcher 174
Ninomiya Kazunari
.
Nino doesn't know how many work outings he's been to at this point. They all run together like a canvas of brilliant colors in the rain, and while he does enjoy the company while he's there, heading home alone afterwards simply reminds him that all he's left with at the end of the night is a murky puddle of swirled grey at his feet.
Nino doesn't mind, though; he's never minded. It's just harder to remember that on those days when so much of his time is spent watching other people go about their multiple lives filled with multiple people, and he's not even allowed to have that life for himself.
He takes a different route home, just for the sake of seeing unfamiliar scenery, and he blankets himself in the dimly lit side streets and the unintelligible chatter of strangers in windows as he passes by. He realizes that the last train's long gone. The night crowds have thinned considerably, electing instead to find refuge in late-night bars and karaoke rooms where they can still pretend to make an effort until the sun comes up to thank them for their hard work.
What happens next isn't supposed to happen, but it's not like Nino has a choice; if it's not meant to be, it'll be gone before it even takes place.
Shibutani Subaru sits on the street with his guitar in his lap, strumming a melody that Nino's never heard but knows all too well, slowing Nino to a halt. He stands and listens, and after a suspended moment, he starts to hum along to a song he doesn't know. The music stops abruptly; Subaru looks up at him with a furrowed brow, startled.
He feels like this has happened before even though he's sure it never has, like a distant memory from another lifetime. Subaru watches him cautiously but doesn't say a word.
Nino can practically feel the guitar strings taut against his callused fingertips, but when he curls his fingers into his palm, all he feels is sweat. He watches Subaru's face shift into tepid interest, and then into curious recognition, and Nino suddenly wonders how long he's allowed to be in this moment, if he'll remember it in a few minutes, whether it's worth pursuing. There's actually no risk involved in whatever he does, he realizes then, or maybe he realized it weeks or months or years ago, and that fills him with such emptiness and courage that he decides to discard the thought altogether.
Nino offers his hand in greeting. "Hello."
Fandom: Nino with a small cast cobbled between Arashi/Kanjani8/TOKIO; Matsumiya friendship, hints of Nino/Subaru (Johnny's RPS)
Rating: PG
Genre: Slice-of-life, fantasy
Word Count: 4,336
Summary: Nino lives in one universe among many, and he's one of the few people who knows it.
Warnings: non-linear storytelling, logic? what logic?
Notes: Written during ninoexchange 2015, originally posted here. This is a travel AU of sorts! Also very vaguely an office AU! And totally, utterly incoherent either way. Thanks to elfiepike for being so everything whenever I need her.
When Nino gets into the office that morning, he impatiently sweeps aside an empty tea bottle and some energy bar wrappers, nabbing his computer mouse and jiggling the monitor awake. He's a man who typically stays organized simply because he doesn't have many objects taking up room, but the one exception is his desk at work, where the only semblance of order doesn't exist in real, physical space.
The office is where many exceptions happen. It's where Nino reaches out to worlds around him without leaving his seat, where he connects the dots between one moment and the next as if they're a puzzle to be solved instead of the living, breathing, day-to-day of complete strangers. Nino settles into his seat and puts on his headset, sifting through case files of interest for any notable changes, greeting his travelers with a "good morning" they can't respond to aloud.
Nino's computer screen has rows upon rows of documents on display, lined up like teeth on a delicate tortoiseshell comb, every file in the specific logical order Nino assigned to each folder, because that's how he stays on top of his work. Other dispatchers organize their files differently, he knows, but he's not really interested in what other dispatchers do. He doesn't need to care about what doesn't affect his performance.
Nino adjusts the operation manual that's sitting askew at the corner of his desk. It's been years since he opened it, the abused spine and crinkled edges showing the telltale signs of age, but it gives him comfort the few times he needs it to know that there's a reason behind what they do at the office.
He's made a habit out of checking old case files, too, sorted in a different partition on his computer. When he knows that one is reaching its three-month idle limit, he'll click-click to that folder and wait, and his breath will catch when the file blinks away, automatically purged from the system, a universe lost forever until it wants to be found again.
.
As is the case with most of the encounters he regrets, Nino meets him at a bar. Nino has his head down low, in deep conversation with the diluted glass of whiskey in front of him, fingers curled tentatively over the rim. The air shifts as a stranger slides up to the bar beside him.
"Whatever he's having," the stranger says.
"It's just some shitty whiskey," Nino replies, still staring at the bottom of his glass, his throat struggling to work around the words after not having spoken for hours.
"Great. That's exactly what I need right now."
Nino turns his head to look up at the stranger, some guy in a dark suit who's giving him a mildly amused look, his lips quirked. He's otherwise fairly plain and regular-looking, though Nino will admit that everyone looks the same to him at this point. "Did you have a bad night or something?" the stranger asks, the tone of his voice betraying his disinterest.
Nino's had a bad life, really. "Same as usual. I just drank too much." Nino can tell that the stranger knows he's lying; he can also tell in the way his eyes shift that the stranger knows that Nino's watching.
The stranger nods absently at the bartender as he places a glass of whiskey in front of him. "What do you do for a living?"
Nino shifts in his seat, leaning back just enough to pretend he's sitting upright. He puts an elbow up on the bar and tilts his head into his palm. "I drink at bars and do card magic for middle-aged guys like you."
The stranger grins, lifting his glass and resting it against his lips. "You want a job?" His eyes twinkle as he takes a small, elegant sip of his drink.
Nino knows better than to trust him. "At least tell me your name first."
.
Kokubun Taichi says that he doesn't know who started it, but he's the man in charge of continuing what they do. As the senior dispatcher, he sits at the front desk of their office, working his cases and coordinating with their engineers to ensure technological maintenance and confirm that all of their systems are running smoothly.
Nino's only bothered by it for the first week, but like Kokubun before him, he accepts the fact that they'll never know where it all began, how they were chosen, or who decided it needed to happen in the first place. In a way, they do God's work, or maybe the devil's work, one small event at a time. But in the grand scheme of things -- and Nino's gotten used to thinking about how grand this scheme actually is -- it's the same work every day. Nino doesn't mind the tedium, even starts to enjoy it, because as long as he knows he's working toward some distant goal of ultimate good, he's happy to be a cog in the machine.
Besides, the cases are interesting.
A sturdy-looking man by the name of Murakami is the other incoming dispatcher who's brought on board at the same time. Kokubun introduces them to each other, and then to their work. They're in a Shinbashi high-rise, a small office on the sixth floor with nothing on the walls but a simple circular clock, prim white and matte black, front and center behind Kokubun's desk. Somewhere downstairs, their building mailbox is a barren silver slate, unmarked and untouched, as if no one even exists on their floor.
Each of the dispatchers has a workstation: a desktop system with double computer monitors, standard writing utensils should they need them, their outboxes for daily reports, and the manual. Over time, Nino imagines, the desks get buried under stacks of files and personal effects, much like Matsumoto's desk next to Nino's, but Nino's confident that his workspace will remain the way it is when he first gets it; he doesn't have much stuff anyway.
They each have at their disposal a small team of travelers, who jump in and out of universes as guided by the dispatchers to adjust what's been knocked out of alignment. They don't travel through spacetime, not really. The manual tells them to think of it more like rewinding and fast-forwarding, pausing the earth on its axis just long enough for people to get into position to make a difference.
And in the end, making a difference is better than delighting salarymen with his card magic at a bar where his tab is so large it requires its own seat at the counter, so Nino listens to the explanations the same way that Murakami seems to be listening next to him. To say that he has a hard time fully wrapping his mind around what they'll be doing is an understatement, but if this is how Nino picks himself up after being laid off from a place where he only felt like a number, then he's willing to see where it goes.
"How's that Ohno fellow coming along?" Murakami asks one day during their lunch break.
Nino simply looks up from his cup of instant noodles with a blank expression on his face. Their cases aren't confidential -- in fact, the manual encourages them to share details so that they can act as backup in case an emergency arises -- but given the nature of their work, it's hard to talk about each case as if it doesn't have a multitude of realities happening simultaneously.
Murakami seems to catch the look on Nino's face, and he grins sheepishly around the corner of his sandwich. "Sorry -- I mean the one where he's an artist. He has an exhibition coming up soon, doesn't he?"
Nino nods and slurps, the broth splattering between his lips. "He seemed to be having trouble appreciating his impact on the world, so the other day I had Sho-chan accidentally kick a kid's ball in Ohno's direction. The kid noticed the painting Ohno was working on, and she promised to go to the exhibition when it opens." Nino pauses to slurp up more noodles, chewing slowly as he considers Ohno's estimated trajectory. "Should keep him on track for a while."
Murakami nods in appreciation. "What else does he do again? He's a baker?"
"And a high school soccer coach. Probably you in another lifetime, too," Nino says with a lopsided grin, and Murakami bats Nino on the head gamely with a loud laugh, his amusement booming through him like it's exploding directly from his chest.
It's a running joke that the dispatchers have among themselves: that they have multiple lives like the cases they work on, multiple universes where they can be -- are, in fact -- anything they can imagine. It's a joke to them because humor's the only way to confront how true they all know it to be.
Nino's favorite case of Murakami's to hear about is the one with the grumpy thirty-something who's a guitarist in a band. Nino imagines that in another life he's also a grumpy thirty-something who's a guitarist, and maybe they're in rival bands, or maybe they meet and grow to be close friends. As far as Nino knows, dispatchers never actually run into the cases their team is working on -- and they definitely aren't allowed to seek them out -- so all he has to work with is his imagination and the knowledge that despite being able to literally travel through space and time (or, well, manipulate it like a DVD player), they can only do so much.
Murakami's main traveler on that case is Nishikido, who seems to be as attached to Shibutani Subaru as Nino is, despite neither of them ever having met the man. Nishikido's good friends with one of Nino's travelers, Yasuda, and despite enjoying his time alone more than his time with other people, sometimes Nino wishes he could just wrap himself up in their universe instead of the one he's in on the other side of the headset. But maybe in another universe they're already friends, and Nino already goes drinking with them just long enough to feel jolly before they start getting rowdy and bellowing their Kansai at the bars.
Nino looks at the clock on the wall, clicking slowly with each passing second. Even only a few weeks into the job, time has stopped being a concern for Nino. He's not sure if that means he's well-suited for it after all or if he's just a victim of a very terrifying psychological experiment, but he's found a strange kind of peace in the way the five hours left in his shift really mean nothing at all these days.
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III. Establishing Contact with Cases
1. Connecting with Your Traveler
Each Case is assigned up to three (3) Travelers. In order to connect with the Travelers assigned to the Case you would like to update, say a greeting slowly and clearly into your headset. (For instructions on adjusting your headset, refer to II. Equipment.) When a connection has been established, your Travelers will hear your voice in their heads but may not respond out loud depending on their surroundings or circumstances. (For more information on building a relationship with your Travelers, refer to V. Traveler Management.)
2. Adjusting Spacetime
You will be responsible for ensuring that the Spacetime modifications made in order to complete contact with your Case have been accurately inputted into your Travelers' relay equipment before they establish contact. Each Spacetime movement must be calibrated based on distance, time of day, and duration of activity. (For movement calibration specifications, refer to Appendix C.)
Confirm with your Travelers that the movement calibrations on their equipment match the calibrations calculated in your Movement Strategy (Template B) before commencing activity.
3. Delivering Instructions
Your Travelers will depend on you to dictate their movements in order to establish indirect but meaningful contact with the Case. Remember that your Travelers are not to make direct contact with the Case. After your Travelers have performed the actions as determined in your Movement Strategy, allow up to one hour to confirm that the actions have resulted in the intended trajectory. In case of misaligned trajectory, develop a new Movement Strategy to be executed no fewer than 24 hours and no more than 48 hours following initial failed contact.
All contact with Cases must comply with the operation guidelines. Refer to I. Operation Guidelines.
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Nino has had plenty to think about as a dispatcher. The very idea that they've been saddled with the responsibility of changing the trajectory of entire human lives with simple actions is beyond the scope of anything Nino's ever had to consider before. He's still not sure what brought Kokubun to him that night so long ago -- and maybe Kokubun doesn't even know himself, and maybe it wasn't actually that long ago; Nino's lost his sense of both free will and internal time-keeping -- but whatever the reason he got to where he is now, he has no intention of giving the job less than his all.
He's had a chance to get to know the small team in that Shinbashi office -- so small, in fact, that Nino wonders how many other offices like theirs must exist throughout Tokyo, Japan, even worldwide. In the dispatchers' room, it's just the four of them: Nino, Murakami, Matsumoto, and Kokubun, coming in at different times to work their daily shifts as coordinated with their travelers. Surely they aren't an independent operation, considering how few of them there are and how many cases with how many universes must exist in the world. But there's no intelligence on whether there's a united front of dispatchers making trajectory adjustments, and certainly there's nothing in the manual that tells them how to find others doing what they're doing.
All they have is the data in front of them, the changes they've put into motion, the points of friction where the universes branch off like marbles colliding, where suddenly one case leads two parallel lives: a life that was steered down the right path and a life has to suffer the consequences of going where it shouldn't have, times infinity.
Matsumoto comes back into the office with some tea from the hallway vending machine, placing a bottle on Nino's desk next to his stack of outgoing reports.
"Thanks," Nino mumbles, his eyes still scanning the case files on his computer monitor. He continues his analysis for an extended moment before he turns toward the proffered refreshment. It's lukewarm in his hand, but Nino doesn't mind that: a drink is a drink, and he twists the cap open before squeezing a few gulpfuls into his mouth. When he comes back down, he meets Matsumoto's eyes, considering his words for a moment before continuing.
"So why are you here anyway?"
Matsumoto snorts good-naturedly. "Blunt, aren't we?"
Nino shrugs. It's been bothering him for as long as he's known the other man... however long ago it was they met. "You don't strike me as the kind of person who just does what he's told without understanding why he's doing it, or what's behind it all."
He gets a raised eyebrow for that comment. "And what makes you say that?" Matsumoto asks, piqued.
"The way you handle your cases, maybe." Nino crosses his arms over his chest, an unconscious action as he folds his words in on themselves like dough before stretching them back out into his point. "You seem very intent on understanding the logical cause-and-effect behind everything your travelers do."
"Ahh," Matsumoto responds, nodding sheepishly. "Though that's only natural, right?" He straightens his posture as he tosses the question back at Nino.
Nino doesn't care about the details nearly as much as Matsumoto does. As long as the action complies with the guidelines and the final trajectory lines up with his strategy, he's not going to spend his time fussing about what came in between. He swivels in his chair to the left and to the right again before making a noncommittal noise.
Matsumoto smirks. "I guess you aren't convinced."
Nino maintains eye contact and tilts his head to the side, feigning thought. "Maybe you just want to help people lead the lives they deserve to lead. How sweet, Jun-kun."
Matsumoto's face darkens considerably and he clicks his tongue. "This bastard."
Nino laughs, boisterous, and Matsumoto grins despite himself before returning his attention to the computer in front of him.
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Nino likes to see how many parallel universes for one case he can keep going at the same time. During each universe's idle time still in the system, dispatchers can keep track of the trajectories and make adjustments as necessary, but after they're purged from the system, those universes run on autopilot.
What this means, essentially, is that Nino and the rest of the dispatchers are charged with playing a lifelong game of chess for each case. The challenge is to think as many steps ahead as possible, to the point where even on autopilot all of the infinite universes for one case won't intersect until the case's final expiration.
Of course, without supervision to keep coincidences and other universal fluctuations in check, universes can and do eventually bend and twist enough to intersect with other universes. Nino used to just think of it as déjà vu -- that feeling of recognizing a place or space or situation as something that's already occurred -- but he knows better now. That feeling is universal overlap. That feeling means that he's failed his self-prescribed challenge, and he'll have to send a traveler out into that case's life again to put everything back in alignment.
What's worse is that once universal overlap has occurred, the risk of being unable to use the same traveler increases: once the same traveler is used in multiple universes for the same case, the chances of their being recognized, their becoming an established part of that case's universes, increases exponentially, and Nino risks losing a viable traveler just because he and the case have become friends.
It's hard and complicated work with a plethora of rules to follow, but Nino revels in it.
Ultimately, Nino keeps himself busy enough that he doesn't have to think about the implications of the work that he does. Being a dispatcher means that all of the travelers and cases he's come to know and maybe even care about can never be a part of his life; his appearance in their lives will irrevocably change that universe, and that much he can logic through without the manual.
But it's not something he needs to fuss over. He doesn't really need people anyway.
.
Dispatcher: 174
Case: 0087 ["OHNO Satoshi"]
Universe: 0215
Lead Traveler: 22760 ["SAKURAI Sho"]
Secondary Traveler(s): None
Movement Strategy: 0087-2011B28912
Today I noticed some strange activity in Universe 0215, and I determined that it had overlapped with previously inactive Universe 0013. Ohno was walking through a park and seemed to be having distinct memories of watching kids at a playground, congruent with Universe 0013 in which he's a preschool teacher.
I issued a 27-minute rewind to put Sakurai in place, a salaryman on a walk during his lunch break. Five minutes prior to indirect contact, Sakurai walked by the mothers and talked on the phone about a dream he'd had recently, and the mothers in turn talked about their dreams among themselves as Ohno passed. I was able to observe Ohno making the assumption that his feeling of remembrance was a dream based on something his sister had told him about her young son.
Will continue to monitor Universe 0215 for any further overlapping with Universe 0013.
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The best thing about nights out with a senpai is that they can depend on him to pay without having to ask for it. Kokubun offers to take them out for whatever they want, whatever they're hankering for; Nino is not one to hanker, particularly over food, but he does know that what's free is delicious, so he'll tag along for whatever the others have in mind.
They end up having yakiniku, because everyone loves yakiniku. Matsumoto takes it upon himself to grill for the group, and Nino idly calls him "YakiJun" as he watches him expertly handle the meat on the grill. Matsumoto narrows his eyes at him through a cushion of flame and smoke, and he threatens to give Nino all the burned meat before serving him a piece that is, in fact, cooked to perfection. Nino smiles at him like a child, eyes clamped shut, all big teeth and bright innocence, and Matsumoto tips the tongs at him with a stern wrist, telling him to just eat already.
They talk shop because it's rare for all four of the dispatchers to be in the same place as once. What's funny is that so many of their travelers are friends in one universe or another: Nino's Yasuda constantly spends time with Matsumoto's Ohkura and Maruyama, and Murakami's Nishikido and Yokoyama join in occasionally. Kokubun calls them an idol group in another life -- "But what would they even sing about? Takoyaki?" -- and Nino says they can join that case Subaru's band.
"You really like that guy, don't you?" Murakami says, shoveling rice into his mouth and then continuing to talk before he finishes swallowing. "You're almost as obsessed as Ryo is."
Matsumoto grunts his agreement around a mouthful of meat, his lips glistening. "He's right. You talk to me about him sometimes, and he isn't even your case."
Nino laughs, letting his words of denial roll across the table like tossed dice. He can feel Kokubun's eyes on him, but when he turns to face him directly, his eyes are averted, his face conspicuously oblivious behind the beer he's drinking.
"Do what you want," Kokubun says finally with a shrug, finally looking at Nino with earnest eyes as if Nino's seriously troubled by feelings he may or may not have for another dispatcher's case. "You know the rules, but you know I'm not going to enforce them."
"That's right!" Murakami pounds his fist into his palm like a drama detective. "You're friends with some of your travelers and cases, aren't you?"
Kokubun grins, wickedly satisfied with himself. "In another universe we build houses together."
Matsumoto's phone buzzes then, and the laughter subsides as they watch him answer it. "Mm, Aiba-kun? Yeah, at that place you like... Mm..." Matsumoto looks around at the group, seeming to seek their approval, so Nino makes his ugliest grimace and shakes his head vehemently just because he can. Matsumoto rolls his eyes before speaking again. "Yeah, come by when you're done with the equipment check." Matsumoto meets Nino's eyes. "We're all really looking forward to seeing you."
.
Congratulations on being selected as a Dispatcher. The purpose of this manual is to provide instructions on and guidelines for conducting Dispatch work. You are responsible for ensuring that this Universe, and the lives of the Cases within it, are aligned in such a way that the whole of humanity is able to realize its fullest potential.
Take on this role with pride. Your efforts are very important to us.
You are
Dispatcher 174
Ninomiya Kazunari
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Nino doesn't know how many work outings he's been to at this point. They all run together like a canvas of brilliant colors in the rain, and while he does enjoy the company while he's there, heading home alone afterwards simply reminds him that all he's left with at the end of the night is a murky puddle of swirled grey at his feet.
Nino doesn't mind, though; he's never minded. It's just harder to remember that on those days when so much of his time is spent watching other people go about their multiple lives filled with multiple people, and he's not even allowed to have that life for himself.
He takes a different route home, just for the sake of seeing unfamiliar scenery, and he blankets himself in the dimly lit side streets and the unintelligible chatter of strangers in windows as he passes by. He realizes that the last train's long gone. The night crowds have thinned considerably, electing instead to find refuge in late-night bars and karaoke rooms where they can still pretend to make an effort until the sun comes up to thank them for their hard work.
What happens next isn't supposed to happen, but it's not like Nino has a choice; if it's not meant to be, it'll be gone before it even takes place.
Shibutani Subaru sits on the street with his guitar in his lap, strumming a melody that Nino's never heard but knows all too well, slowing Nino to a halt. He stands and listens, and after a suspended moment, he starts to hum along to a song he doesn't know. The music stops abruptly; Subaru looks up at him with a furrowed brow, startled.
He feels like this has happened before even though he's sure it never has, like a distant memory from another lifetime. Subaru watches him cautiously but doesn't say a word.
Nino can practically feel the guitar strings taut against his callused fingertips, but when he curls his fingers into his palm, all he feels is sweat. He watches Subaru's face shift into tepid interest, and then into curious recognition, and Nino suddenly wonders how long he's allowed to be in this moment, if he'll remember it in a few minutes, whether it's worth pursuing. There's actually no risk involved in whatever he does, he realizes then, or maybe he realized it weeks or months or years ago, and that fills him with such emptiness and courage that he decides to discard the thought altogether.
Nino offers his hand in greeting. "Hello."