Eiichi pi vol 1, p.1
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       Eiichi P.I., Vol. 1, p.1

           James K. Penn
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Eiichi P.I., Vol. 1


  Eiichi P.I.

  Volume 1

  Story by James K. Penn

  Art by Kate Taylor

  Editing – Kate Taylor

  Art – Kate Taylor

  Cultural Consultants – Kate Taylor and John Mastrangelo

  Forensics Consultant – Collin Kessler

  Law Enforcement Consultant – Seth Ziegler

  Copyright © 2016 James K. Penn

  In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author at jkpenn.author@gmail.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Disclaimer

  This book is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Dedicated to my parents, my brother, my family, friends and mentors, who supported me in one way or another.

  In memory of Grandmas Francis and Dotty – for long goodbyes

  Cousin Kelly – whom I never got to see off

  and Bandit

  Contents

  Chapter 1 What’s in a Name?

  Chapter 2 New Place, New Mind

  Chapter 3 Letters and Little Brown Feathers

  Chapter 4 Its Own Voice

  Chapter 5 Blind Date

  Chapter 6 A Cat and Her Claws

  Afterword

  The Creators

  Chapter 1

  What’s in a Name?

  There are certain kinds of people in this world who stand out among everyone else. They can blend in and appear just like any other face in the crowd, but after hearing their voice, one can recognize there is more behind them than just a face. Others can pick and choose how to handle this, whether to befriend them or cast them aside, label them as strange and abnormal. They are not in any way superior to others. It is either because they know their true potential, or it is staring them in the face...and they don’t even realize it.

  In the Saitama Prefecture, there is a high school with no notable reputation or highly substantial renown. It is not in the lowest or highest rankings of the Japanese education system, and thus is not much of a challenge for any average student to test into. Only its former students had graduated and moved on to bigger and better things. Its name is Aki Guro High.

  However, some minor notable features about it were it had a cafeteria, though it was small, and served more as a food court or cafe. Most students brought their lunches as a result. And, it boasted a pretty broad campus space, and a large student body to match.

  At the back of this high school, more distinctly, at the back of the building that housed the cafeteria, out on the loading bay, sat a young man that was a most peculiar student. One look, and anybody could tell there was not much that was normal about him.

  He sat on a set of short steps that led up to the loading bay, which was a flat, elevated concrete surface with a tin awning, where trucks for food distribution corporations dropped off their frozen goods.

  The loading bay itself, and the wide, open grass field that led up to a row of bushes and trees that lined against a brick base fence were empty. They were empty, or else this student wouldn’t be here.

  The coattails of his gakuran hung unbuttoned around his thighs, which were propped on the steps, one knee raised higher than the other as a rest for his right hand, which held a lit cigarette in between the middle and index fingers. His tan undershirt hung unbuttoned and untucked as well, exposing a loose t-shirt underneath.

  His hair was of a jet black, and hung in short, fanned waves with a broad lock just above his eyebrows. A pair of yellow, objective eyes, with a sharp intelligence and wolfish appeal, gazed out over the driving pad and beyond the row of gates. There was nothing in particular that he was staring at, but it was apparent, from the straight line of his skeptical mouth and slack of his narrow jawline, that there were other places he’d rather be. Not uncommon of some high school students.

  A thin line of smoke drifted up and over that face. He raised a steady right hand while not breaking his distant gaze. The cherry on the cigarette hissed as he took a long drag. There was small print on the ring over the faux cork filter that read “Sparrow 100’s”. There was no breeze, and a wide stream of smoke floated out, drifting upward, as it twisted itself against the blue panel.

 

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