Hatakeyama Natsuki ((link)) Official

He bowed, stiff and precise. “Hatakeyama Natsuki.”

The last thing Natsuki Hatakeyama remembered was the wet slap of a fish tail against her cheek. Now she was standing in a silent, rain-slicked alley in Tokyo, holding a sardine. hatakeyama natsuki

“I feel pretty alive,” Natsuki said, gripping the sardine like a tiny, slippery sword. “Aside from the whole ‘waking up in a stranger’s alley’ thing.” He bowed, stiff and precise

It was the same sardine. The one she’d been trying to sell at the Tsukiji outer market before a rogue delivery truck had introduced her to the hood of a Honda. But the fish was wrong. Its scales shimmered with a deep, auroral blue, and when she tilted her head, she could hear a faint humming from inside its silver body. “I feel pretty alive,” Natsuki said, gripping the

She blinked. “No. I’m Hatakeyama Natsuki.”

Natsuki looked down at her hands. They were still her hands—chapped from cold market water, nails short and practical. But a faint, silvery webbing had begun to grow between her fingers. “That’s disgusting,” she said calmly.