Vampire and His Pleasant Companions: Volume 5 - Part 8

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A voice came over the speakers announcing that the plane was preparing to land. Al returned his reclined seat to its upright position. He looked out the window, but all he could see was a blanket of gray clouds. No land in sight.

His watch, already adjusted to Japan time, read 11:50 a.m. Considering landing and immigration procedures, it looked like he’d make it into the country before the 1:00 p.m. bat transformation window. He let out a small sigh of relief.

The original plan had been to arrive at Narita Airport at 10:30 a.m., but a delay during the aircraft inspection pushed back their departure, and once in the air, congestion on the runway had them circling for a while. Before boarding, he’d been bursting with excitement at the thought that he’d be back in the same country as Akira in just half a day. But the closer he got to the land of hope, the more his anxiety grew.

Akira didn’t know he was coming back to Japan. Akira’s best friend, Nukariya, had advised him, "If you tell him beforehand, he’ll probably put up his guard, so better not to say anything." It felt a little lonely not to be able to announce his return or his intention to stay by Akira’s side—but when he thought about how Akira had left him in America for his own good, Al understood. He needed to be careful. It was better to time the reunion right.

Thanks to drinking Kyiv’s blood and going through training, Al could now freely control the transformation between human and bat.

Even though there were still hours when he would turn into a bat, with this much control over his body, he could easily work during the day—his options for part-time jobs had expanded considerably. The only drawback, if he had to name one, was that the longer he stayed in human form, the hungrier he got—more so than back when he was half-bat, half-human.

After deciding to return to Japan, Al ran countless simulations of his future life in his head. First, he’d start living on his own and support himself with a part-time job. Living alone was proof of independence—and if he became independent, he could stand on equal footing with Akira. If they were equals, he could proudly tell Akira, “I want to live with you.”

Part-time jobs, part-time jobs… Even if he could now work during the day, the biggest hurdle was still Japanese. He could understand it and speak it, but reading and writing were still a challenge. Office work was out of the question.

Maybe he could do cleaning work at an embalming facility again. He liked cleaning, and it felt rewarding. More than anything, embalming was rooted in respect and love for the deceased. And if possible, he wanted to receive blood from the deceased. But that wasn’t going to happen without Akira’s cooperation.

Now that he was closer to being a real vampire and his fangs could extend, he probably could bite and drink blood—but he was afraid of losing control, of drinking too much and hurting someone. That’s why he had never tested it on a person. He wanted to avoid dangerous things as much as possible.

Before leaving, Pat had let him drink a lot of blood from corpses, so he was fine for now—but there would definitely come a time when he needed it again. If things got truly unbearable, he still had the option of drinking blood from raw meat, but that would probably only help temporarily.

As he was caught up in all these thoughts—don!—a sudden jolt lifted his hips off the seat. A powerful G-force pressed down on his body. But it lasted only a few seconds. The airplane gradually slowed, and the pressure vanished with a soft exhale. Raindrops streaked down the small double-paned window, and beyond the gray sky, the blurry shape of the terminal building came into view.

The scenery stilled—the plane had come to a complete stop. The seatbelt sign turned off, and passengers began moving all at once. An announcement came through, saying that transfer passengers would disembark first. Because of the delay, Kyiv’s connection to France was cutting it close. He gave a rushed goodbye—[Things got a bit hectic, huh? But I’ll be back in Japan sometime.]—and disembarked ahead. Al was incredibly grateful that Kyiv had been there to support him during bat-time on the flight.

Since he wouldn’t be getting off for a while yet, Al stayed seated and looked around.

Despite being a weekday, the flight—operated by a Japanese airline—was nearly full. During the flight, when he’d asked a Japanese flight attendant, “Lots people ride, Japan popular?” as she handed him a drink, she had replied in Japanese, “It’s not usually this crowded.” Apparently, there was a large concert in Tokyo, and about eighty orchestra members from California were on board. Al had noticed someone using the seat next to theirs for an instrument case and had nodded in understanding.

Once the announcement declared that the priority passengers had disembarked, Al stood up, slung his Boston bag over his shoulder, and joined the slow-moving line toward the exit. The Black man ahead of him swayed gently from side to side as he walked, and from the earbuds in his ears, Al could hear a rhythmic beat leaking out.

He, too, had been listening to music on the plane. Casually, he patted his jeans’ back pocket—and felt something was off. No solid object. In a panic, he swung his Boston bag to the front and searched inside. Nowhere. Nowhere to be found. The smartphone Kyiv had bought for him—gone! He must have left it in his seat when he was listening to music. Without it, he couldn’t contact anyone.

He tried to turn back, but the line was too narrow to go against the flow. He slipped into a nearby row of three empty seats, but his actual seat was about ten rows behind. His nerves were on edge, but he reminded himself there was still a little time left before his bat transformation and forced himself to stay calm.

Once the aisle cleared, he hurried back to his seat. He searched the area thoroughly, but his phone was nowhere to be found. Cold sweat trickled down his forehead. Had someone stolen it? No… no way, he told himself, scanning his surroundings anxiously. That’s when the flight attendant who had served him earlier approached.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"Phone… lost. Big trouble," Al replied.

The flight attendant joined him in the search, but the phone didn’t turn up easily.

"What do I do…" he muttered, anxiety spilling from his lips. He had already checked his bag once, but just to be sure, he opened it again on the seat and spread out its contents.

"Excuse me," the flight attendant said, stepping closer. "May I confirm—was your seat 36F?"

"Yes," Al answered.

"In that case, your seat is actually two rows further back."

He rushed to the seat two rows behind—and there it was, his black smartphone, sitting quietly.

"There! Thank you!" Al exclaimed.

He grabbed the phone and began stuffing everything back into his Boston bag. But in his fluster, he fumbled while trying to sling it over his shoulder. He hadn’t closed the zipper, and the contents spilled across the floor.

"Oh no!"

He crouched to gather his things. The flight attendant knelt beside him, helping. "Take your time, no need to rush," she said kindly. Al’s face flushed with embarrassment and guilt.

As the last passenger to leave the aircraft, Al stepped into the terminal alone. He was walking down a long hallway when a voice called from behind.

"Excuse me! Passenger from the Los Angeles to Narita flight—Mr. Kane Roberts!"

Kane Roberts? Ah—right, that was him. He turned to see the kind flight attendant running toward him. She stopped in front of him, panting and holding her chest, then held out his passport.

"Y-your passport was left on the plane. When I looked inside, I recognized you as the last to disembark. Would you mind confirming it’s yours?"

It was indeed his forged passport. It must have fallen out when his bag spilled. If he had made it to immigration without noticing, he would have panicked. First the phone, now the passport—he felt like a complete fool.

"Thank you very much. I… I saved," Al said, fumbling for words.

"I’m glad," she replied. "Actually, I was thinking this on the plane, but—your Japanese is very good. Are you a student?"

"No… I come… to meet someone I like," he said, earnestly and awkwardly.

The flight attendant let out a quiet "Ah," then gave him a gentle, warm smile. "Then… you’ll be seeing them soon."

Watching the flight attendant’s back as she walked away down the corridor, Al felt a soft warmth bloom in his chest. Japanese people really are kind, he thought. He hadn’t realized it until he started living in America, but customer service workers there were generally much more dry.

He’d lost too much time already—there was no room to dawdle now. Al hurried toward quarantine. That went smoothly enough, and next was immigration. The time was currently 12:20 PM. He had forty minutes left until the 1:00 PM deadline. Once he passed customs, he’d need to immediately find a hidden place with no people—somewhere like a restroom would be safest. If he transformed into a bat in front of everyone, it would be total chaos.

Nukariya was supposed to be picking him up, and he’d been kept waiting for nearly two hours already. Al had informed him via social media that the plane was delayed, and Nukariya had replied, “It can’t be helped,” but still—he didn’t want to inconvenience him any further. He pulled out his phone to at least let him know he’d arrived, only to be struck with despair at the sight of the screen.

No battery. It was dead. He’d been listening to music the entire flight.

He couldn’t contact Nukariya, and the time limit was drawing closer and closer. He checked his watch over and over, bouncing on his heels anxiously, enough that people ahead and behind him started giving him space.

Finally, at 12:45 PM, it was his turn. He half-jogged to the counter and handed over the forged passport that Kyiv had made for him. Al had no idea how one even went about creating something like that, but Kyiv had bragged, “It’s never been caught before.” And true to that claim, Al passed through immigration without a hitch. By then, he had less than ten minutes left before the transformation.

He had no checked luggage, so he went straight to the last customs checkpoint, submitted the declaration form, and burst through the final doors at exactly 12:59 PM.

In the arrivals lobby, he looked around for a restroom sign but couldn’t find one. It had to be either to the right or left, but which way? Worst case, any place he could hide would do—but there didn’t seem to be one. That’s when he heard it: “Al!”

By the stairs on the right, Nukariya was waving to him.

“Welcome back. That took longer than I expected.”

Al ran up to him.

“Your black hair really changes your whole vibe. I didn’t recognize you at first. You told me you’d turn into a bat at one o’clock, so I was starting to get worried.”

“Me… soon… turn,” Al said.

Nukariya tilted his head. “Huh?”

“Bat… I become… take me… toilet…”

Heat surged through Al’s whole body. Not good. Nukariya shrugged off his coat and draped it over Al’s head. Then, he crouched down and pulled Al with him. Even as he was being hidden like that, Al’s body rapidly began to change, shrinking smaller and smaller. Within seconds, he had transformed into a bat and was buried in the clothes he’d been wearing moments ago. A hand reached in through the fabric, gently pulling him out.

Apparently, Nukariya had moved him next to the staircase to shield the transformation from view.

“That surprised me,” Nukariya said, gently stroking Al’s head. “You really do change right on the dot. I covered your head with my coat and moved you to a spot that’s hard to see, so we should be fine. Even if someone saw, they probably wouldn’t believe it anyway.”

“Is this all your luggage?” he asked, pointing at the Boston bag. Al nodded.

Nukariya packed up Al’s clothes and slung the bag over his shoulder. “Your fur’s darker than before,” he said casually, then slipped the bat into his suit pocket.

:-::-:

With the reassuring presence of his escort, Al safely escaped the airport. Nukariya had come by car, but the traffic was horrendous, making progress painfully slow. Al, who hadn’t slept well on the plane and had finally relaxed after the chaos of immigration, nodded off in the passenger seat, snoring softly. He woke to the gentle sensation of being lifted. Poking his face out from the pocket he’d been tucked into, he heard Nukariya say, “You awake?”

“We’ve arrived at your apartment.”

Nukariya stepped out of the car with Al’s Boston bag in hand. He had rented the apartment himself, somewhere halfway between the embalming facility and Akira’s condo, all for Al’s sake. Following Al’s request that it be “as cheap as possible,” the rent was dirt cheap. Just as he’d seen in the video Nukariya had shown him, the building was a plain, boxy two-story structure. The lower portion of the first-floor walls was stained black, and even from a distance, the rust on the staircase leading to the second floor was visible. It was an old, retro property, built before Al—back when he’d still been human—was even born.

Al’s new home was a corner unit on the second floor. Nukariya opened the faded door. As expected, the corridor was narrow. The kitchen looked like something from a toy set, and of course, the bath and toilet were all-in-one. The room at the back was half the size of Akira’s, but a brand-new futon set was neatly placed inside. When Al pointed at it with his tiny claw, Nukariya smiled and said, “A homecoming gift. I figured this was something you’d absolutely need.”

Even though Al had already burdened him with everything from apartment hunting to logistics, he still gave him a futon as a present. There was nothing but gratitude for that kind of kindness.

“I thought about getting you a few more things,” Nukariya continued, “but you don’t really cook for yourself, right? And it’s probably cheaper to use the coin laundry nearby for now.”

He gently placed Al on the futon. Flipping on the light, he muttered, “I wonder if you can turn back into a human soon,” and walked over to the window to glance outside. The rain was pouring harder now, a steady drumming against the glass.

Since they couldn’t talk while he was still in bat form, Al transformed in the corner of the room. In the beginning, he’d shift back into human form automatically when his bat time ended, but once he learned a few tricks, he figured out how to stay in bat form beyond the time limit, giving him more control over his body. He opened his Boston bag, took out his clothes, slipped on his underwear, and pulled a T-shirt over his head.

“This place is close to the station—” Nukariya began, turning to speak, only to lock eyes with Al mid-change.

Al, who was just grateful he’d gotten his pants on in time, was met with a wide-eyed stare. Nukariya seemed fixated, and Al wondered if it was the black hair and eyes that surprised him—but he’d already seen them once, hadn’t he? Or maybe it was the brand-new T-shirt with a Japanese logo. Was it that cool?

“Al… it’s you, right?”

He tried to say “yeah,” but what came out was a sharp “Gyah!” That’s weird. No voice.

“Is that normal now? When you’re in human form?”

His vision was in black and white. A bad feeling took hold. He reached up to touch his face—soft fur met his palm. Alarmed, he dashed into the unit bath and looked in the mirror over the sink.

From the neck up, he still had a bat’s head.

No wonder the shirt had snagged on his nose.

Normally, his transformations were perfect, but maybe the long flight had left him too exhausted. He scolded himself—“You can only walk around looking like this during Halloween, and even then…”—then focused his energy into his lower abdomen. The fur vanished, his nose shrank, and his face finally returned to that of Albert Irving, the human.

When he stepped out of the unit bath, Nukariya relaxed, the tension in his cheeks softening. “Ah, that’s better. You look a lot more... normal this way.”

"I'm sorry. That face just now—was a mistake."

"You know, with that kind of head, you could probably pass it off as special effects makeup and walk around outside. But… yeah, you'd definitely stand out. Anyway—welcome back to Japan, Al."

The sound of "welcome back" struck something deep in his chest, making it tremble—and a tear slipped down his cheek. He quickly wiped at his eyes, embarrassed.

"I heard your vampirification has progressed," Nukariya said, studying him, "but from what I can tell, the only visible changes are your hair and eye color. With black, you’ve got a more… seikan kind of look."

"Seikan?"

"It means cool. Like, manly and sharp."

It made Al happy to hear that—but at the same time, a little part of him resisted. He didn’t want Akira to think he’d changed too much from the way he used to be.

"Well then," Nukariya continued, brushing it off with a smile. "That stubborn guy? He’s gotten even more set in his ways since you left. He’s probably just being obstinate. We’ll come up with a good strategy to get through to him."

Al nodded solemnly and knelt in seiza across from Nukariya. "Please… help," he said, bowing his head deeply.

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