Clamp Campus, Tokyo,
1981 January 

He put his bag down next to the door and looked around. The room was on the first floor, overlooking the street. Not bad, and first floor wouldn't be a problem. Getting a single boarding room at Clamp Academy from one day to the next had been a challenge, but it was remarkable what impact a 'guardian' with a 1-Chiyoda address had in that regard. Seishiro smiled wryly and continued his inspection of the room.  
     Pale yellow walls, white frames, yet the door was made of dark wood. The wall behind it was the only space in the room left free for a picture or poster. An assortment of old sticky tape and pins suggested that whoever had occupied the place before him had used the space for exactly that. Seishiro shrugged. He had nothing to hang up right now. 
     A small wardrobe and a nightstand took up the right wall. A functional reading lamp was screwed to the wall above the head of the bed. The bed itself stood under the window, its length stretching from one wall to the next. A greyish blue wool carpet lay in front of it. The remaining free space on the left wall was filled with a desk holding the – at Clamp Academy apparently inescapable – computer system and a plain set of writing utensils. A dustbin stood underneath the desk. A double-bookshelf took up the wall above it.  
     The corner left of the door was claimed by a plain but lockable cupboard. Seishiro ran his hand along its side and over the shelves inside. Yes, with a few spells this would suffice. Something to shield, something to hide, and something to divert attention away from it. He was tempted to tap into the oddly familiar spiritual energy accumulated by the campus, but decided against it. He didn't fully understand yet where it came from and who was behind it. As long as he didn't know, it was better to lie low and observe, and therefore anything too clearly his own brand of magic was off-limits inside this room for the time being. He would look into that later. 
     A knock on the door interrupted his inspection. The technician showed him a government ID, actually bowed to him, and proceeded to install the secured phone line. Five minutes later, the man made a call, gave a codeword, hung up and left. The phone rang immediately afterwards. Seishiro answered. Connection established. He wondered briefly what the 'guardian' had told the school about the necessity for a separate line, but then he just shrugged. There were more pressing issues now. The emperor essay was due this afternoon and he had still to complete what the tree had... written?  
     The memory of blossoms and wood, sap and blood on his tongue invaded his mind. An unwelcome thrill tensed his spine. Annoyed, he forced the frisson from his thoughts. No! The essay. Now. Everything else later! 
     He'd skimmed through the spidery scrawlings on the page sticky from tree sap on the train back to the campus this morning. And it had read well. The Tree's version of what Nijiren had written in his letter made a lot more sense than the letter itself. But he had to come up with some sources for the claims in the Tree's scribbles, or the teacher would toss him out for writing fiction instead of facts. 

The Imonoyama Research Library – named after its donor, of course – was a wide, screamingly modern one-storey building in one of the side streets away from the central plaza and the rumbling tram lines. Somehow, it had even escaped the omnipresent arcs, if one ignored its oval shape. The inside held a small selection of teacher studies, a group workroom, a small cafeteria and the huge research area taking up most of the ground floor and all of the top floor. Instead of the endless rows of books and magazines Seishiro expected to find in a library, he was confronted with spacious, light-grey computer desks, each holding a small screen and a keyboard. The latter was connected to the side of the desk with a spiralling cable. 
     With a fatalistic shrug he put his bag next to an empty booth and slipped into the chair. After searching for a moment, he found a button labelled [ON]. The screen lit up. A cryptic sign blinked in the upper left corner: "C:\>". Seishiro blinked, too. 
     A "How To..."-list was printed on the desk pad. He read it attentively and finally started to type. 

BEEP 
C:\>INVALID SEARCH REQUEST: SYNTAX ERROR. PLEASE SPECIFY REQUEST. 

He tried it again, entered slowly the information he wanted to extract from the electronic data archive, one finger hovering over the keyboard till he had found the letter he needed next, only tapping it after he had checked it twice. 
     So far, the IRL's computer system was not being cooperative. 

BEEP 
C:\>INVALID... 

Seishiro winced. The fact that the library hall was also dead silent didn't help either. 

BEEP 
C:\>INVALID... 

"May I help you?" A friendly voice said next to him. Looking up, he found Imonoyama standing at the edge of the terminal. "You seem to have problems with the search routine." 
     "It doesn't do what it should," Seishiro grumbled, frustrated. "I'd go to the museum and look it up myself, but the essay is due this afternoon. I won't make it to Ueno and back in time." 
     "I see," Imonoyama reached over and pulled the keyboard towards himself. "What are you looking for?" he asked. At Seishiro's suspicious glare he laughed faintly. "Don't worry, I won't snoop. I'm hopeless in history anyway." 

C:\>RESOURCE: "JAPAN NATIONAL ARCHIVE"; SEARCHMODE: TITLE; QUERY:_ 

"So I can search directly for the title with this?" 
     "If you know the exact title, then yes. If you aren't sure, substitute missing syllables with asterisks." Nokoru shrugged. "Or you can search inside the documents themselves." 
     Seishiro stopped. "You mean... like looking for a name mentioned?" 
     "Sure. Who are you looking for?" 
     "Atai Goma. He lived sometime around 590." 
     "Guess, we won't find an employee file for him, then," Nokoru grinned. His fingers flew across the keyboard, typing.  

C:\>RESOURCE: "JAPAN NATIONAL ARCHIVE"+"NATIONAL MUSEUM"; SEARCHMODE: TEXTBODY; QUERY: "Atai Goma"+TIMEREFERENCE: pre-1000 

He hit [Enter] with verve.  
     No beep. No error message. A line of dots crept slowly from left to right across the screen. "It's going to take a while now," Nokoru told him. "He's searching."  
     "He?" 
     "The computer." Nokoru looked calmly at Seishiro for a moment. "You don't know much about computers, do you?" 
     "I'm here for the first time. The things haven't been too friendly so far." 
     "So you're a newbie, Sakurazuka-kun." Nokoru laughed and finally pulled a chair over to sit down. "Let's see if we can remedy that." 

One-and-a-half hours later, Seishiro knew at least the most basic set of commands and had a vague idea of how they had to be arranged to actually get the machine to do something. Though right now, he didn't care too much about that. He was busy copying the information he'd pulled up on the screen into his notebook and writing a more complete, 'fact-based' version of the Tree's essay. It was late. He would have to hurry to get to the lecture in time and his hurried handwriting was probably only slightly more readable than the Sakura's, but at least it wasn't mostly written in ancient Chinese characters. What finally found its way into his homework book probably wasn't the best analysis he'd ever done, but he hoped it would suffice. 
     As expected, the lecture had already started when he arrived. He knocked faintly, bowed his apology for being late, and handed over the essay. 
     "You needn't have come today, Sakurazuka-kun." The teacher seemed astonished when accepting the notebook. "The school directory informed me about your mother's demise and that you just moved to boarding school this morning." 
     "My homework is due today, sensei." Seishiro was tense. He hadn't expected this. "I– didn't want to miss class."  
     The teacher looked at him thoughtfully. "You are very composed about it." 
     "Her death was to be expected, sensei," Seishiro said calmly and nodded his respect. "It didn't come as a surprise." He proceeded down the class aisle to his desk. 
     "His mother passed away just yesterday?"  
     "Then why is he–" 
     "It must be horrible to–"  
     Seishiro cursed inwardly. It seemed he had made a mistake in working today. People were strange. He just hoped they didn't get suspicious and– 
     "I'm sorry for your loss, Sakurazuka-kun," Imonoyama at the desk on the other side of the aisle from his own said calmly. "I didn't know when I kept you at the library." 
     "I had to complete my work, Imonoyama-kun. Without your help, I would have failed. There is nothing for which to apologize." 
     The other nodded slowly, but the sad expression stayed in his eyes. "I understand. I buried myself in work when my mother passed away." He hesitated a moment. "Call me Nokoru." 
     "Seishiro." He looked briefly at the other boy across the aisle. "Do you still want that help with history?" 

Clamp Campus, Tokyo, 
1981 Spring 

"...it is possible to construct a series of embedded pentagrams to form a larger pentagram as follows: if the central pentagram has center (0,0) and circumradius 1, then the subsequent pentagrams have radii r_n..." 
     The door to the classroom opened and one of the school assistants slipped in, handing a note to the teacher who frowned at the interruption of his lecture in advanced geometry. He read it quickly, while the assistant waited. 
     Seishiro used the interruption to ponder the problem. According to his sketched calculations, the constructed larger pentagram had to be a pentacle , actually, or–  
     "Sakurazuka-kun."  
     He looked up at the teacher's call.  
     "There's a lady waiting for you." 
     He made no attempt to hide his surprise. "For me?" 
     "Yes. A Mrs Jushinohara. She's in the front reception room. Go now, don't keep her waiting." 
     He closed his notebook and stood. "Yes, sensei." The lecture resumed behind him. 
     "...radii r_n equalling the golden ratio to the minus n and center coordinates of–" 
     The door closed on the teacher's words. Seishiro's steps echoed over the polished marble floor of the empty corridor. 

The reception room was on the ground floor, on the right side, with a long row of arced windows allowing a nice view of the large trees lining the yard. The woman waiting for him was surrounded by an aura of dignity as she looked out onto the sun-sprinkled yard. He judged her to be in her late forties. Her classically done hair showed the first streaks of grey. She wore a prim European style costume. A leather purse stuck under her arm. There was a determined tension in her posture. She seemed to be... on a mission. A mission that somehow had brought her here, demanding to see him. 
     "Jushinohara-san?" 
     She started at his address and turned abruptly towards him, scrutinizing him, cautiously, for a long time. Seishiro allowed a frown to creep onto his face. He definitely hadn't met her before. So...? The tension seemed to flow out of her, leaving her looking older than before. 
     "No, you aren't," she said finally.  
     Seishiro was intrigued. "What am I not?" 
     "Your name's Sakurazuka?" she inquired as if acting on an afterthought. 
     "Yes. Sakurazuka Seishiro. You sent for me." 
     "Then I'm sorry to have taken your time, you aren't it." 
     "What am I not, Jushinohara-san?" he pressed, allowing his annoyance to lace his curiosity. "You come here, I'm called out of my class, and all you tell me is that I'm not... what?! Don't you think I deserve an explanation for that?" 
     The woman looked wide-eyed at him, finally she laughed uneasily. "Yes, I think I owe you that much. Would you care for a walk outside?" 
     "Of course, Jushinohara-san." He offered her his arm in the same chivalrous manner he had seen Imonoyama use on occasion. "I'd be delighted." 
     She laughed faintly at the gesture, for a moment she appeared fifteen years younger. "You're a charmer, Sakurazuka-kun. You'll break your share of hearts soon enough, I'm sure." 

They circled the house slowly. The far side of the schoolyard gave into one of the small parks that were scattered throughout the campus. Spring flowers were sprouting through the grass left and right of the path. The smaller parks weren't as strongly climatized as the central section, allowing for a more natural run of the seasons. Seishiro actually preferred them. Mrs Jushinohara walked calmly beside him, making the occasional comment about the unexpected beauty of the campus grounds here in the depths of Tokyo's industrial front line. Her pumps crunched rhythmically in the sand. 
     "I have to warn you, Sakurazuka-kun," she said in a quiet voice. "My story is gruesome and possibly hard to believe. I don't want to scare you. If it gets too much for you, you have to tell me, yes?" 
     He nodded solemnly. 
     She drew a deep breath. "My husband was killed almost three months ago." 
     "My condolences." 
     "Thank you. But it wasn't just that he was murdered. He was... slaughtered." Her voice trembled as she continued. "It was... as if his heart had been ripped from his chest and been carried away." She dug her slender hands into the folds of her suit jacket. "I found him. The blood... trailed out of the house and down the street and– The police investigated, but it led nowhere. They stopped answering my calls. The officers were taken off the case and then I was told to let it be." 
     "I am deeply sorry about your loss, Jushinohara-san, but how does that bring you to me?" 
     "I didn't let it be and I stumbled about an old legend of an executioner who kills people with magic. The Sakurazukamori." 
     Seishiro laughed faintly. "Surely, you don't believe that fairytale." 
     "I have every reason to believe it, Sakurazuka-kun," Mrs Jushinohara stated firmly. "My husband was killed in exactly the fashion described in the legend. The blood was trailed all across town and instead of hunting down the killer the police covers it up." She gave him a level look, her chin raised in calm defiance as she flipped open her purse. "I'm sure I even know who holds that... title nowadays!" 
     Seishiro tensed. He expected her to produce an weapon from the depths of her purse, but all she came up with was a handkerchief she used to dab her eyes.
     "I'm sure it's a woman not quite my age." She folded the handkerchief daintily and put it back into her bag. "You see, I'm here because I tried to find information about the Sakurazuka and your name in the school registry was all that came up. You were of about the right age to be her son, so–" She laid a trembling hand onto his sleeve briefly. "I was sure you'd be related to– to that creature. But you're so tall and the woman my neighbors described was a small, typically Japanese beauty while you–" She stopped, blushing. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to offend you." 
     "Don't worry, you did nothing to offend me." He smiled amiably. The trees stood thick here. Something flickered in their depths. The wavering of the maboroshi being woven around them was hidden by the sparks of spring sunshine between twigs sporting the first flush of green. "I do believe you." 
     "You do–?" She looked at him wide-eyed. Her eyes were beautiful, hazel with flecks of burgundy and brown. She was still looking at him when his hand pierced her heart. 
     "You were right, Jushinohara-san." Seishiro said gently as he called the cherry blossoms to transmit her essence to the Tree and divert the impending sakanagi. "I do break my share of hearts." 

His expression darkened as he slowly released the maboroshi around him after her body was gone, keeping just an illusion of her walking slowly beside him back to the school house. He knew his mother had been careless, but this– He shook his head. He was going to have a talk with the Tree about this as soon as possible. If there were more traces, he had better take care of them before they came knocking at his door.  
     Apropos traces... he nodded his farewell to the illusion. Sitting down on the edge of the yard wall as if overwhelmed by disturbing news, he looked after it as it walked around the edge of the school house. His mind's eye traced it along the street and across the small place in front of the subway station. A gust of wind tousled its elegant short hair just as it reached the gates. Twenty-five meters on and to the right was the monorail station... 
     He dissipated the illusion among the people pushing and shoving around a newly arrived train. 
     He stood slowly. A slight headache throbbed behind his temples. He had better excuse himself for the day. Mrs Jushinohara's disturbing news about his recently deceased mother should suffice for that. Surely, they would understand that he just had to visit her grave after that. He felt the ghost of a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. In a way, that was even the truth. 

Ueno Park, Tokyo, 
one-and-a-half hours later 

A small branch shot out, curled around his right arm, encircling his wrist the moment the Tree's maboroshi flared up. Seishiro tried to disentangle himself, but the bark cut into his skin. A bunch of smaller twigs bound his left hand as well. Roots were reaching for his feet. The Tree was holding him tightly and it was deadly serious. 
     ...I hate to remind you, but I cannot forgo sustenance forever... 
     "You got an extra snack right this afternoon," Seishiro pointed out calmly. There was some desperation in the Tree's actions that seemed all wrong – and dangerous – despite the casual wording. 
     ...only because of your mother's inconsiderateness... the Tree returned. ...and even Setsuka-chan didn't leave behind enough witnesses for me to ignore your tardiness over three months. You have duties as Sakurazukamori. Some of them involve keeping in touch with me...
     "I'm in the middle of entrance exams for high school," Seishiro protested. "If I miss the top five percent, I won't get a scholarship. Do you want to convince the organization to cover the school fees?"
     ...there are the official funds... 
     "I'm underage, Tree-san," Seishiro sighed. "I need an adult to sign. You may be a thousand–" 
     ...Two-thousand-six hundred-and-something... the Sakura corrected. 
     "–but you can't walk into a bank and sign the check for the cashier." He held himself up, despite the tugging twigs and the painful pull of the branch around his arm. The Tree had caught him. He knew he couldn't free himself. He knew also that the Tree couldn't risk to dispose of him, as long as there was no other– Another twig rustled closer, this one cushioned with blossoms. The Sakura raised his chin as if to study his face closely.
     ...you've lost weight... it observed, apparently not too pleased with the discovery. 
     "Going with two hours of sleep every night does that to you," Seishiro snapped. "What did you expect? That it was going to be easy?" 
     ...That you stay in touch with me... The Tree's branches shuddered, twigs curled closer, winding into his shirt, his pants. He tensed, hissed. Surprisingly, the Tree retracted the offending twig. ...you are only real to me when you're here, or when you're sending food... 
     "But I didn't..." Seishiro's head was swirling. "I thought you'd call me when you needed me. There are some contracts, but the exams–" He stopped. "You mean... you don't see me at school?" 
     ...I feel... power... but not you... Blossoms whispered against his neck, lay against his cheek.
     Seishiro ignored them. An idea was forming, a concept... "White noise..." he whispered, concentrating. "All that power of ours in the campus..." He felt the death grip on his wrists and ankles loosen as the Tree took the concept from his mind. "What if...?" 

Clamp Campus, Tokyo, 
one-and-a-half hours later 

Seishiro wove the maboroshi closely around himself before he left the monorail station on his way to the gates. It had grown rather late; evening was falling already and while the monorail station was still crowded with those commuting home for the night, the way into the campus was almost deserted by now. He leaned against the bannister of the bridge that connected the main gates with ring station One and tried to judge the height of the bridge.
     The sun was hanging low in the west. The bridge threw a huge black shadow in the reddish evening light. He landed smoothly about two-and-a-half meters below on the bare strip of land that separated the transparent tube of the subway ring from the oily waters of the harbor basin and Tokyo Bay. Waves, stirred up by one of the great container ships heading to and from the Ariake docks, were lapping at the black, oil-slick covered stones. 
     Sea gulls were shrilling above. The iron smell of tang and oil, rotting shells and fish burned in his nose. The subway tube with its sealable station entrances kept more out of the inner campus than the occasional high tide caused by a typhoon.
     He worked hard to keep the maboroshi hiding him perfectly. In the low-hanging sun he threw shadows impossible to miss on the red-tinged ground. He knew there were cameras out here. Cameras which were closely monitored. He would be in trouble if he was spotted out here. Whoever had planned and built the campus was a practitioner. The knowledge built into the structures was way too profound, the accumulated spiritual energy way too high for it to have been accidental.
     Imonoyama had given his money, likely for the prospect of his son's safety, but the driving force behind this had to be somebody else. Somebody who knew. Somebody, Seishiro was sure, who wouldn't be too pleased to find the Sakurazukamori investigating the perimeter. And the school uniform wouldn't distract them. 
     So he searched his way across the barren stretch of land, avoiding the low patches of salt weeds that looked strangely orangey-green in the late sun, and tried not to slip on the slick stones, not to bend a twig in the wrong direction, not to make a sound– 

It took him longer to reach his destination than he had thought it would. The sun had almost vanished completely and the subway trains in the tube to his left looked like burning caterpillars racing through the night. But the brightly lit stations on the ring were good landmarks by which to judge his position and the metropolis' light dome provided enough illumination for him to find his way in the dark.
     He stopped when both stations appeared to be equally far away. He waited for the next, brightly lit train to rattle past before he crossed the last few meters towards the tube; slowly; warily.
     He retrieved a card from his pocket. An unmarked black card, not an ofuda. He thought of writing a weak symbol on it, for a moment imagining it glowing in blood on the sleek surface. The intention should be enough. He was conducting a test here. He didn't want to cause a spiritual disturbance strong enough to raise the hackles on every ghost dog within Tokyo's spiritual barriers. 
     Magic trickled unpleasantly along his veins. A red glow, like a miscolored will-o'-the-wisp, wavered on the black surface of the card, and across his hand that held it. It flashed. He gasped. It hurt. Was that how the Tree had felt when he had accidentally drawn the pentacle on its roots? 
     He ground his teeth against the increasing pain. Pins-and-needles were racing along his arm, numbing it. With a determined move he touched the card against the tube wall– 

Black, oily, chemically polluted harbor water closed over his head. He slashed and fought in the darkness. He coughed and gasped when his head finally broke the surface. Spitting out a mouthful of foul water he struggled to pull himself up onto the slippery stones framing the artificial island. For a moment, he just sat there in the dark - wet, cold, heaving, spitting, and generally trying to get fresh air into his protesting lungs. 
     He shivered. His uniform was ruined. The wet cloth stuck to his body, chafing his skin. The dirty water had irritated his throat and he couldn't stop coughing. His hair was plastered to his skull. Something slick stuck in it and he had likely swallowed enough industrial pollutants for his body to end up as toxic waste sometime in the future, but– 
     –he was laughing, laughing hard, almost choking on it as he fought to keep the noise down. 
     He had been right. Sumeragi. And probably Magami, but Sumeragi for sure. 
     The silent laughter increased, only interrupted by frantically suppressed coughing fits. 
     Intention. They had made a mistake. No, scratch that, they had screwed up. Royally! 
     Intention over physical fact. Spirit over Matter. – Pentacle.  
     One tip up. You get what you want. 
     Matter above Spirit. Physical fact over intention. – Pentagram.  
     One tip down. You get what you see. 
     ...You should get dry, Sei-chan... the Tree commented in this thoughts. ...and stop risking your health. You aren't dispensable right now... Hesitation, then. ...though it is interesting, that I can reach you at the moment despite your proximity to that place... 
     It might be due to the fact that right now, I'm sitting in front of a pentacle and have just attempted to touch that pentacle, Seishiro stated, putting considerable effort into not giggling madly. And if you don't mind, I'd like to return to my pentagram and get some dry pants, now. 

It was well past midnight by the time he finally got back to the boarding house. He'd had to cross the channel in the dark and walk around to appear at the entrance gate. He couldn't just appear on campus; the computer systems would register such an anomaly for sure. The gates had been closed already and he had had to call up security to be allowed in. At least, his soaked state had provided a suitable excuse for his late return. Japan Railways rejected passengers who would dirty the cars . 
     To his surprise, the place was brightly lit and crowded with people. He drew his share of curious and disapproving glances as he slipped inside. "Sakurazuka-kun! There you are!" The house warden hurried towards him, assessing him. "Where have you been? How did you get into this distasteful condition?" 
     "I'm sorry for my tardiness, sensei. I had a little accident on the way back from my mother's grave and–" 
     "Are you feeling well? Are you sick?" 
     "No, sensei. Why–?" But the house warden had already disappeared from his side. Seishiro shrugged and made his way towards the stairs. The uniform was drying on him, and he wanted to get out of it and under a shower as soon as possible. Maybe some of his skin would remain intact then. 
     He spotted Nokoru sitting on the stairs, a fiercely scowling Takamura standing behind him to make sure nobody bumped into his One in this hubbub. 
     "What's up?" Seishiro asked him when he reached them. 
     "The refectory served bad food this afternoon." Nokoru pulled himself to his feet using the railing for support. "It was horrible. Over five hundred people are sick." He fell in step beside him. 
     "That's why all these people are here?" 
     "Yes, they're mostly parents and teachers." He shrugged. "And some investigators from the public health department. My father is currently down there giving a press conference." He sighed. "They still don't know what caused it."
     "I see..." Seishiro patted his pockets for his door key and drew a face when something slimy touched his hands before he could pull it out. "And why are you here? Did it hit you, too?" 
     "No, Suoh and I were eating at Akira's so we weren't affected. But I was worried about you. Did you know that somebody from the Ministry of the Interior asked about you? The staff weren't too happy when they couldn't find you."
     Seishiro winced. He would have to find a different disposal for sakanagi around here. Apparently, the refectory wasn't crowded enough. 

to be continued in
36°-5-6: Interlude

Notes:
Actually, 36° F is the temperature at which bonsai trees are proven to survive in absolute darkness. 
1-Chiyoda: Chiyoda-ku is the center of Tokyo. Chiyoda-cho as part of Chiyoda-ku holds the Imperial Palace (kokyo), the Imperial Household Agency, and the Imperial Guard HQ (and not much else according to my city map). Interesting detail: the south-west moat of the palace grounds is the "Sakurada". 
A series of embedded pentagrams can be constructed to form a larger pentagram according to Williams 1979, p. 53. BTW Seishiro's sketched calculations are true: a series of embedded pentagrams form a pentacle!
No idea about the "dirty passenger rule". It's just a suitable excuse that came to mind.