“Harold Kelman?”
The aged British man, former head of the Ministry of Joy, looked up from where he sat.
“Do I know you?” he asked.
The young man grinned. “Nope. But I know you. They say a lot about you in the history books.”
Kelman snorted. “Nothing good, I’ll be bound.”
“Yeah, they don’t talk much about the Smiler stuff. That was kinda whack. Still amazed a whole nation bought into Martian psychic therapy.”
“Amazing what you can sell if you package it right.” The old man laughed, but there was no humour in it.
The stranger took the seat next to him. He sat back easily, as if unconcerned with what was going on in the older man’s mind. There was a long pause as the duo stared at the opposite wall of the waiting room.
“...are you here to see someone?” Kelman asked.
“Nope, just passing through. You?”
Kelman stared. “That’s rather private, isn’t it?”
“Hey, I’m a chatty guy. I like to get to know people.”
A longer pause. And then Kelman heaved a huge sigh, looking more old and tired than ever.
“My daughter. She… developed some kind of viral infection. The doctors can’t seem to identify it, but she’s… very weak. I pay her a visit every day I can. But with my busy schedule, I fear that someday she might… slip away. When I’m not there to comfort her. Ironic, that my brother created Marmalization to ease pain, and yet now I can’t do anything for my own child.”
His voice became cracked, emotion leaking through. The stranger sucked in air through his teeth.
“Damn,” he remarked. “Heavy. No dad should have to see their kid go before them.”
“And you would know?” Harold’s tone was almost droll.
“No. But I’ve seen it happen again and again, where I come from. Children getting their lives cut short, right in front of the people who love them the most. It’s messed up. Imagine having to cradle the body of your own family when their only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Harold sighed, but offered no comment. There was an even longer silence.
“You care a lot for your daughter,” the stranger said.
“Obviously.” Another humourless laugh.
Then Kelman looked over at the stranger. And he sensed something seemed off when he saw the tiny smirk at the corner of the younger man’s mouth. But he was old, and couldn’t be sure. Ever since the Smiler incident, he’d gone a little paranoid, always looking over his shoulder…
“Would you save her yourself, if you could?” asked the stranger.
The sense of wrongness grew.
“...more than anything.”
Then the stranger turned to him and looked him dead in the eye.
“Harold Kelman. History says that your daughter dies in a week, from the Bugster Virus. But I’ve come to change that. I can give you the power to save your daughter and make things right. In return, I need you to do something for me. Think of it as equivalent exchange - I scratch your back, you scratch mine. There’s a lot at stake, Harold Kelman, and I wouldn’t come to you if I didn’t think you weren’t the man who could do this.”
The former head of the Ministry felt very much like a cornered canary before the cat strikes.
“Do what?” he asked.
The stranger pulled something from his pocket.
---
“So… why did that work?”
Kouta was staring at the Build watch very intently, as if trying to find a Dan Brown riddle etched into it. It had been a day or two since the fight with the fake Kamen Rider Build. And Kouta didn’t seem any closer to understanding his powers.
“I mean, I get the monster was based on that Build guy. But how come the power I got from this watch worked on him when you guys couldn’t do it?”
“You remember that part where I said we found you at the start of your calling? This is your calling, it seems. Like Decade, you’re going to have to deal with corrupted mirrors of those that came before you...with truer mirrors. It’s not my task, or Vince’s, so we were on the outside punching in, so to speak. But give me a few hours and we’ll see if we can’t fix that in SOME way…”
Dawn vanished into her lab, leaving Vince and Kouta standing around surrounded by lab work and half done projects. It was equally organized and a total mess, though the latter might just be because neither had any idea of what went where.
Kouta watched her leave.
Then he turned to Vince.
“She’s, uh…” he struggled for a word. “She’s intense.”
“Yeah. Sorta.” Vince shrugged. “Her brain works differently from other people. Because she’s, like, a robot. At least you weren’t around for her really bad decisions.”
“Really? How bad?”
Vince was quiet for a moment.
“Bad.” He shook his head. “Just take my word for it, okay? Not the time or place to get into it. Hey, you wanna go learn from the Kamen Riding masters?”
Kouta nodded. “I guess. I mean, this woman’s telling me all kinds of philosophical crap and I can’t get my head around it. I’d rather get taught by someone who can tell it to me straight. Also,” he added, tilting his head, “don’t you have a store to run right now?”
“The store runs itself. I’m just along for the ride.” Vince jammed a thumb at the door. “Come on. Let’s have an adventure instead of listening to this fucking college lecture on how to play with the plastic gewgaws. It’s gonna be the greatest Kamen Riding of All Time, trust me.”
“...can’t argue with that logic.”
---
Some time later, Kouta didn’t know when, he was the one hesitantly knocking on the door.
He wasn’t sure what else to think. The person Vince had told him about didn’t sound much like an actual Kamen Rider. They sounded more like they’d briefly flirted with the idea. A fleeting high school romance torn apart by real life. If the circumstances around Riders were anywhere close to real life, of course.
But apparently they’d been Kamen Rider V3, one of the originals, holy sh-
No. Kouta tried to steady his breathing. That was the last kind of impression he wanted to give.
It didn’t take long for the door to open, after a “Just a minute!” from the inside. When it did, the person standing there was… unassuming. Blonde hair decorated with music note pins, a purple and pink ensemble for an outfit, excited eyes looking him up and down as she tried to figure out who she was looking at.
Kouta blinked. This was… not what he expected. He was expecting some elderly guru who would either be all grandfatherly or put him through the wringer. Like the old man in Karate Kid. Not… a normal girl.
“Oh. Um. I’m…Kouta. Kouta Tokiwa. Er, Vince sent me. You might have heard of him.” Smooth, Tokiwa, real smooth.
“Vince!” Her eyes lit up, shining brightly just at the name. “Of course I’ve heard of him! Four years with the Kobbers indirectly or directly is an impressive reputation, especially when he- oh, I’m getting carried away, sorry. I’m Kaede Akamatsu! Nice to meet you, Kouta!”
“Nice to meet you, too.” Four years? Had Vince been in with them that long? He never mentioned that!
Kouta suddenly realized that he was still standing on the doorstep. This was not making a good first impression.
“Oh, um… can I come in?” he asked, rubbing the back of his head. “Only he said I should talk to you about… Kamen Rider stuff.”
“...Oh.” As if she turned into a different person, Kaede suddenly seemed to lose some of her enthusiasm and energy. “Right, sure! Come right in!”
Inside Kaede’s small cottage, it was clear that it had been designed top to bottom for a musician. A grand piano sat in another room, visible from the entrance. Music sheets and books dotted the room, unsorted, while pictures of Kobbers and various events lined the wall. A large couch in the center was where Kaede sat, and where she invited Kouta to sit as well.
“So… what in particular did he want me for?”
Kouta plopped himself down on the couch. Huh. Nice place. Now, how to explain this…?
“Well, um… how do I put this? I guess I’m the new guy. Kamen Rider Zi-O. I use fancy watches to transform and stuff. I’m supposed to somehow become lord of time and space in the future. Except I kinda don’t want to, because that guy sounds like a jackass, if you’ll pardon my Japanese. And some weirdo time cop tried to arrest me earlier. So Vince thinks I ought to learn from people who used to be Riders so I don’t become Time Hitler. His words, not mine.”
He fiddled with the Zi-O watch in his pocket. Much to his relief, it made no sound.
“And… okay, I’m sorry,” he said, suddenly gaining a huge fanboy-ish grin, “you were Kamen Rider V3. That sounds like the awesomest thing ever.”
Kouta might have looked like he was vibrating. It was actually pretty similar to how Kaede got around her Kobber icons, but Kaede herself just looked a little awkward, like she was trying to shrink into herself.
“I was, but… I wasn’t very good at it. I got carried away with the powers and kept trying to use them just to show off and be important. And then I lost the belt because it was corrupted by someone who wanted to make a mess with it, and it created a monster because of everything I did… it was a mess.”
Kouta blinked. “Oh.
“...well, that’s still better than me!” he cried. “I mean, all I’ve done so far is punch a monster that looked like Kamen Rider Build. And I’ve still no idea if I did that right! So, if you’ve got anything to teach me at all, I’d like to know!”
“Umm…” Kaede tapped her chin in thought. “I suppose… don’t get carried away, basically? It’s not just about having the powers, you need to have the heart and courage to use them right. And make sure to use them for the right purposes, too! I didn’t. ...I can’t teach you how to fight, I could only fight with the belt.”
“That’s fair,” Kouta shrugged. “I’m not that much good out of the belt, either.”
He paused, considering. His fingers continued clicking the bezel of the Zi-O watch.
“...seems there’s a lot more to this stuff than I thought. Dawn keeps going on about how this is my calling, but honestly I think much of what she says is nonsense. And I kinda never really asked for it. I just ended up with the belt whilst hiding from the time cop. I was hoping I could get through school, get into college… Was hoping to get a political science degree, actually. And now I’m punching monsters.”
“Calling?” Kaede shook her head. “I don’t think you should think of it that way. It might be something you need to do, but… I wouldn’t think of it as the only thing you’re MEANT to do, if she’s suggesting that. Think of it as… a job, maybe? Part-time monster punching job!”
A chuckle. “Yeah, how much should I charge for that? Five hundred a monster, a thousand if it turns giant and starts stomping on the city? That’d be some shit, eh?” He was already starting to feel relaxed. Kaede’s advice was sensible enough that he didn’t have to overthink it, like he had to with Dawn. And even though she’d had little experience as V3, it was enough to give him some insight into how the whole Kamen Rider thing worked.
He wondered if Vince had ever thought the same thing.
---
“I wish I got paid for this.”
Vince stared up and down the street. Something was wrong. His words seemed to have a slight echo, as if he was in a cave. Nobody was around. The Kobbers had left, but there should have been at least a few people around. But he couldn’t hear cars, or the waves on the beach. The air felt as if a thick grey blanket had been laid over everything, smothering sound and life.
This was very obviously his problem right now. He was gonna be late for rum and video games with Koa, but presumably she’d understand if he’d explain he’d been solving some sort of mystery. And hey, it might just be Old Man Jenkins.
His hand went for his Driver, and a cold hand closed around it.
“We PlAy NoW,” breathed the creature in his ear.
---
Kouta suddenly jerked in his seat as orange corruption flashed in his vision. His hand flew to his temple and he hissed as if in pain. Kaede looked at him in concern, worry covering her features. “Is everything okay?”
“I dunno!” cried Kouta. “I just- I thought I saw something…!”
He paused. Then he fished into his pocket and pulled out the only other watch he was carrying - Ex-Aid. It was glowing slightly, a faint light permeating the neon plastic.
“...that’s new,” he remarked.
“...It’s not supposed to do that?” Kaede remarked. “Do you know what it means?”
“No, I don’t think so. All I know is that it’s based on the powers that Ex-Aid uses, and-”
It all came together in Kouta’s head. Vince. He’d gone off to investigate a disturbance on the high street. And the watch had only started glowing right after he’d had that vision. Well, less of a vision, more of a mental flashbang. And something in the back of his mind…
“...I think Vince is in trouble,” he said, before he could stop himself.
“Well, then there’s only one thing for you to do!” Kaede pumped her fists. “Go out there and save him! Not because it’s your calling, but because you can, and you want to!”
“Hell yeah!” Kouta leaped out of his seat as though he’d trampolined off, raising a fist in the air. Without pausing to really ask himself if that was necessary, he made for the door.
He’d just got out when he paused a moment.
“Hang on,” he said, half to himself and half to the world. He started patting his pockets, as if looking for something. He’d remembered that he and Dawn had been looking at one of the watches, some time ago. And one of them had piqued Dawn’s interest. Which pocket did he-?
His fingers touched plastic. Without thinking, he grasped it and pulled it out.
BIKE!
-and released it as it suddenly unfolded.
He climbed on, although not without difficulty. The bike was a little higher than he was expecting, and his feet struggled to reach the kickstarter. But when he finally got it, the engine roared to life like an angry dragon. His eyes lit up as it did.
“Wow,” he grinned. “Always wanted one of these.”
Then, pausing only to throw a thumbs-up at Kaede, he revved up and sped off.
---
“Hello? Anyone here?”
Dawn peered around.
“Vince? Kouta? Beach Episode, Variola Memera? You didn’t show up and whisk them away, did you? I might be on to something...I sure hope you didn’t run off to get high or something from the stress because I really don’t wanna see what would happen…”
“I would!”
“Quiet, Phillip.” Hmmmm, what to do. Go back to work or treat this like a problem?
...well, there had been more than a few Riders who’d had their belts shoved into their hands and told to sink or swim. History so far showed that a mantle picked a swimmer. They didn’t need her holding their hands.
...and if someone drowned, Dawn did know CPR.
---
He had a real nasty feeling when he got to the high street.
It was empty. Which was strange, because Christmas was approaching. There should have been people out shopping for gifts and food. A fair, with lights and cheesy music and the smells of seasonal food. Faux log-cabin stands with all kinds of things on sale - mulled alcohol, chocolate, nuts, quick and easy gift ideas. But there was nothing. Even the stands were vacant, their appliances powered down.
Kouta dismounted from his bike. The feeling of unease one gets from total isolation was creeping in like a prowling tarantula. He swallowed it down and walked down the street a little. One hand clutched the Zi-O watch like a lifeline. The Space-Time Driver glinted on his waist.
“Hello?” he tried, his voice low and full of nerves. He wasn’t sure if he wanted a response at all. What if something did respond?
No answer. Just the silence.
Okay, then. Better transform now rather than later. Kouta quickly flicked the bezel round on the watch, hit the button (ZI-O!) and slotted it in. Whatever had taken Vince had also done a number on the street - and fast enough that it was empty by the time he’d arrived. He didn’t want to be caught short.
No such luck. As Kouta reached for the belt, a hand clamped onto his wrist.
“We PlAy,” growled something in his ear. Rotten breath washed past his face.
And then Kouta was yanked sideways, orange corruption flashing past his vision. He handed hard on his side, and now he was somewhere else.
Well, no, he was where he had been. But it was louder, brighter. The houses had been reduced to simple shapes, the sky was bright blue, and chirpy electric music floated in his ears.
And also a monster was standing in front of him.
Kouta may have struggled to comprehend philosophy and maths. But he knew a pattern when he saw one.
“You wanna play?” he snapped, scrambling to his feet. “How’s about a rousing game of Punch the Freak?!” Without further questioning why, he pulled out the Ex-Aid watch and activated it the same way.
EX-AID!
The creature growled.
“No CoNtInUe,” it snarled, teeth clashing against each other, and it ran at him, speed propelled by video game logic as it swiped at him. Kouta yelped as leaped backwards to dodge the claws, lost his footing and tumbled over, still clutching the watches. He scrabbled frantically to get upright, wrestling with the Ex-Aid watch to shove it into the opposite slot on the belt.
“You’re definitely not Vince, then,” he said, aloud. “I know whatever Ex-Aid’s catchphrase was, Vince never said it. So whatever it was that made you this monster, you can’t be him.”
“Yeah, I'm too cool for a catchphrase.”
Kouta looked up. There was Vince. The young man was trapped in a shimmering cube, hovering above the ground many feet above his head. He didn't seem to bothered by his predicament, although he was lying on one side and looked bruised.
“...lemme guess. If I beat this guy, you go free- WHOA!”
He had to duck as the monster Ex-Aid came at him with an actual Hurricane Kick.
“Yeah, them's the breaks.” Vince kicked his feet, his shoes making a dink noise on the cube's walls. “Also, I have as many questions as you do. And he took my belt! Asshole.”
Kouta got up and nodded. Then he turned to the fake Ex-Aid, which was snarling like a rabid dog as it swivelled around to face him. He could still hear the ominous ticking of his belt, and knew what that meant.
“After-school Street Fighter, don’t fail me now. Henshin!”
He span the belt. And aside from his usual jingle and transformation, a hologram of something vaguely Ex-Aid shaped appeared. It struck a pose, pointing defiantly at the monster, then exploded into pieces that clamped onto his body. And the voice rang out:
ARMOR TIME!
LEVEL UP! EX-AIIIIID~!
“Wow, I forgot how pink my costume is.” Vince peered down at Kouta's new form.
Kouta looked down at himself. Then to his sides, and noticed something.
“...what is wrong with my shoulders?!” he cried.
“Focus, kid!” Vince gestured at the Ex-Aid monster. “Worry about your costume choices later!”
“Oh, right!” Kouta quickly squared up, raising his weird fist-hammers in crude imitation of a boxing stance. The Ex-Aid monster hissed, and then darted forward again, its strikes less sure than before now that its foe had changed form. Quickly raising one arm, Kouta parried the strike - sound effects, spark and all - and lashed out with a blow from the opposite arm to the ribs.
The flash nearly blinded him, and the force threw the fake Ex-Aid to the floor.
“Not so tough now, are you?” hollered Zi-O, and pursued.
The creature rolled to its feet, and darted sideways. It wasn't aiming for Kouta, but a floating brick block at the edges of their arena. The construct fell apart at the monster's touch, and a disc span in the air for a moment before vanishing.
MUSCLE UP!
Satisfied with the power-up, the monster lunged again, red streaks carved into the air by its claws.
“Bob and weave! Bob and weave!”
Kouta gave a yelp of fright, only barely registering Vince’s advice. He slid to one side as the monster slashed, then weaved side-to-side when the thing came round and swung for him. But as fast as he could move, the claws were too close for comfort, and the new Rider found himself backing up frantically as the monster kept coming for him. He tried to retaliate with his own punches, but the attacks came too quickly for him to find an opening.
Then his foot caught on the kerb, and he stumbled. That was enough. One swipe found his chest, another found his head. Then a cross-slash with both hands flung him back to crash into a stall in an explosion of splintering wood.
“You’re a video game!” Vince was on his feet, jumping up and down frantically. “Come on, do the Mario! You know how to do this!”
Kouta emerged, shaking the dizziness from his head. “...the Mario?”
Then he noticed more of the brick blocks, hovering close by.
“...of course!” Leaping from the wreckage, he made a mad dash for the blocks, only barely avoiding a fireball thrown by the false Ex-Aid. Swinging his arms, he bashed away at them, shattering them one by one.
“Come on, come on,” he muttered. “Gimme something good…”
Right on cue, a yellow disc materialised and was absorbed by Kouta's armor.
SPEED UP!
“Bingo!” Kouta, body brimming with glowing yellow, turned and took up a stance just as the Ex-Aid monster charged at him. This time, when it swiped, he ducked under it and punched it before it could recover, making it stumble back. When it slashed again, he weaved to one side, slid around it and struck it in the back of the head. Snarling, it tried the barrage trick again, but this time Kouta hopped away from the first two swipes, then ducked under the third too fast to see and fired a hook into the jaw.
Then he threw another punch. And another, and more still, coming with such great rapidity that Zi-O’s arms began to blur. And then, with one final lunging straight, he planted one hammer square in the beast’s face, throwing it back to crash into another stall.
“Oops.” Kouta cringed. “Guess I’m paying for that one.”
“Don't worry about it, keep it up! Do the thing!”
Kouta quickly did as told
FINISH TIME! EX-AID!
Cartoon bolts of energy surged around his arms as he braced himself. The fake Ex-Aid was back, and charging for him with a furious scream in it’s throat.
But then, to his surprise, letters appeared in from of him.
CRITICAL… TIME BREAK!
Kouta hesitated.
Then, not really knowing why or how, he grabbed the lettering out of the air, swung it around and clobbered the monster, throwing it off balance.
“TEXT BAR IN YOUR FACE!” he screamed as he adjusted his grip, then swung again like a batsman at the plate. This strike sent the monster soaring up into the air, limbs waving in frantic bewilderment. Kouta dropped the text bar, crouched down, and waited until it was on the way down, plummeting unstoppably to earth…
...and leaped.
“SHOOOOORYUKEN!”
The neon explosion that followed as his fist hit the monster’s jaw was somehow even gaudier than all the previous ones. Kouta landed on his feet, dropping to one knee and bracing himself on one arm. The Ex-Aid doppelganger hit the earth in a heap and lay still, sparks and bolts coming off of its artificial body.
GAME CLEAR!
As all the video game assets faded from view, Kouta took in a breath, rose to his feet and unplugged the Ex-Aid watch, returning to his base Zi-O form.
“I think I’m getting the hang of this,” he observed.
“How the fuck did you grab the text.” Vince, freed from the cube, was staring at the other Rider. “I didn't know you could do that. Why didn't I ever try that?”
“Maybe it just doesn’t work for you?” Kouta shrugged. “Come on, we better get this-”
He turned, and saw just whom the Ex-Aid fake had been. A pale-faced, middle-aged man in a suit, prone and unconscious on the road.
“..oh.”
“Who the fuck is that?” Vince squinted. “I don't know that guy.”
“His name’s Harold Kelman.”
Vince and Kouta turned.
The speaker, a youth seemingly a little older than Kouta, hadn’t been there before. There hadn’t been anything to indicate that he’d turned up - not even any footsteps. He stood as though he looked right at home here - not just this place, but this specific moment in time. His eyes were fixed intently on Kouta, as if everything else around him was a mere distraction.
“And he was trying to change the future.”
“Well, shit,” said Vince.
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