TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 4

After scrolling away from Hayley Hawkeye's picture, I was determined to make it through the rest of the day without consulting it again.

Why should that be so difficult, Makoto?, you might ask me. It's just a photo.

Well, you'd have a point, but there are some things you simply can't let go of. Even if it's only a mental image, there are times that you can't unsee what you have already viewed. This was one of those times.

During my History of Sinnoh class, I could have sworn that I saw Hayley's back. The hair was very similar to that in the photo - the color was identical, and it shone just as brightly even without the sun. The only difference was that the wind had not swept its way through it yet.

It would be very odd to say hello to her now. Especially by name. That's what my social therapists always called "unexpected behavior", and they're right. So I should just stay silent, except when the teacher calls on me.

Every time the urge to check my phone seized me, I planted my feet firmly on the floor. I buried my face deeper in the computer that I was using to take notes. I would do anything it took, literally anything, so that I wouldn't dwell on that girl all over again.

When called on, I would ad-lib some answer about what the teacher had just discussed. The man tasked with teaching History of Sinnoh to seniors was desperately dull - he managed to make a fascinating topic (that surrounding the land of Hisui, the precursor to the continent we know today) boring. If nothing else, I "respected" him for that.

He also engaged in a practice I'd grown to despise. He would periodically call on a student to repeat what he had just mentioned, or to answer a question. When the unfortunate student couldn't think of anything to say, he claimed he'd write a note and send it home with that pupil, which would make for an awkward conversation around the dinner table. (His words, not mine.)

I pinched myself several times so that I'd be ready to give a response. Any response whatsoever would be better than admitting that I couldn't answer. It was only a matter of time before the roulette landed on me, and I'd better hope no bullet was lodged in the trigger.

"Makoto Mutsamudu!"

I sat bolt upright in my seat, rapt to attention. "Yes, Mr. Barnes?"

"Please tell me what caused the First Pokémon War."

Luckily, I was ready for this. "Uh…there were tensions between the human settlers in Hisui and the existing residents, wild Pokémon whose existence had not been recorded yet. The war was fought over resources like land and water."

"Correct. And what year did it start in?"

"Uh…was it 469 BC?" I wondered aloud. Truth be told, I had not the slightest idea - I just had to select a random number and hope against hope that I got lucky.

A few giggles rose from in front of me. (I'd selected a desk in the back of the classroom so as to avoid being called on; this strategy may have backfired.)

"When did wrong answers become funny?" Mr. Barnes boomed. "Everybody, please stop laughing!"

Naturally, that only riled the class up further. Many chuckles were being had at my expense.

And Hayley might be among them!

"Whatever" Mr. Barnes muttered, barely audible above the guffaws of the other students. "Makoto Mutsamudu, I will be sending a letter to your parents tonight. I presume your parents will be very pleased that you have failed to save your grade."

I sat there, stone-faced. I did not want to blush - I could not give the other students any entertainment.

It wasn't even my fault that I didn't know the answer. It's my belief that the human brain can only hold so much information, like a computer. You'd have to purchase more storage to assimilate more information - though in this case, I'm not sure what "purchasing more storage" even entails.

"In any case," Mr. Barnes continued, "we will continue. Let Makoto Mutsamudu serve as an example. You must pay close attention to my every sentence, or risk suffering my…displeasure."

The whole day had been an emotional roller-coaster, and not in a good way. All I wanted was to head home and start chiseling away at the veritable mountain of homework that I'd already been assigned. Perhaps I'd be able to commiserate with Jeff Psyduck, who remained isolated in his Pokéball, completely oblivious to this hell I faced.

AG Woods: So you had a difficult time paying attention in class? What was it, ADHD?

Mr. Mutsamudu: Well, I've never officially been diagnosed with it, sir. But why would I use that as a defense?

AG Woods: It doesn't matter. It could also be that your guilty conscience rendered it impossible to focus on Mr. Barnes' lecture. Did you have a girl on your mind?

(The witness did not respond.)

AG Woods: I will repeat the question, Makoto. During your first History of Sinnoh lecture of the 202X-202Y school year, were you lovesick?

(The witness did not respond.)

AG Woods: If you do not answer, Makoto, I may hold you in contempt of court. You don't want -

Mr. Mutsamudu: Okay, fine! I did!

AG Woods: You did?

Mr. Mutsamudu: Whatever you want. Just let me answer.

AG Woods: But the truth is what matters here, Makoto. And as they say, the truth will set you free.

Mr. Mutsamudu: I'm telling the truth. When Colin Grady texted me the photo of Hayley Hawkeye, I just had to look at it.

AG Woods: What do you mean, 'you had to'?

Mr. Mutsamudu: I couldn't resist it. There are some impulses you can't resist, like resolving notifications whenever you check your phone. That's all I was doing, I swear!

AG Woods: I think that if you were truly innocent, you would not be so belligerent with me. Nonetheless, continue.

On the way home, the subway was roughly a minute late. In the back of my mind, I recalled that there'd been an incident on the metro this morning - the nature of said "incident" had never been specified. Oh well - it didn't matter, because the most important thing was that I got home safely.

Later, when I left for my bedroom, I was vaguely cognizant of my parents giving me rather pitying looks. Clearly, they felt bad for me somehow - they could just tell that things hadn't gone my way today.

Just you wait, I thought bitterly. Once you see that note from Mr. Barnes, you aren't going to be pleased with me. This isn't a threat; I'm just warning you that it's an unpleasant surprise.

So I began chipping away at my homework. It was like a boulder the size of a building - it would not budge, so the only option I had was to slowly pick away at it until there was nothing left. Needless to say, it would be an uphill battle.

You might think that without the other students or the professor to distract me, without the laughter enjoyed at my expense, I would find it much easier to focus on the work at hand. That I could put the tortuous day behind me and just crank away at my academics.

Well, you might think that, but you'd be horribly wrong.

When I looked at a page of my textbook, the words blurred together and seemed to dance around the page. I had to raise my gaze back to the window in order to regain my bearings, and by the time I turned back to the textbook, the "daze" was back.

Is this what it means to be "lovesick"?, I wondered.

In the past, I'd imagined the notion of being too deeply in love to focus on anything else to be just that - a myth. I would have expected love to be strictly a positive experience, one that could not be ruined unless it ended. But that was false.

Whenever I blinked in an effort to refocus, this backfired. All I could picture was the blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl sitting atop her Rapidash. She was smiling directly at me, holding the reins. In some of these fantasies, she waved at me, as though encouraging me to climb onto the mount beside her.

No, I would say. I don't know how much weight he can handle.

Don't worry so much about it, Makoto, Hayley would reply. Just climb on - he's stronger than you think.

I didn't let the fantasy go any further than that, and this wasn't just because I did not know what Hayley's voice sounded like. Further fantasizing was a forbidden fruit, just like that in the Garden of Eden, or the Hall of Origin, or whatever belief you have about how the world began. The point is, I would be in for a lot more pain if I imagined more.

My focus waned more and more with each minute, and I found myself sweating considerably. It wasn't even that hot in my room, though the sun shining directly through the window didn't help in that regard. Even so, my mop of blonde hair was plastered to my forehead, and my palms were slippery. It was growing more difficult to grip my mechanical pencil.

Colin wants me to ask her out, I thought. Do I dare?

I have to. The other boys won't respect me if I don't at least try. And it'll always be a pretty big what-if for me if I forgo any attempt.

But that girl…what's that song again? The one by Billy Talonflame?

Oh yeah, "Diamond On A Landmine." It's nothing like that. It's not going to explode if I don't tread carefully. Besides, I'm not going to stalk her to get what I want.

Eventually, it was time for dinner, and my mother let me know it when she knocked on the door to my room.

"Already?" I enquired, but it was clear that time had come. The sun had gone down by now, after all.

"Yes, Makoto. It's dinnertime. And you're going to love it - it's chicken, broccoli, and ziti. Isn't that your favorite meal?"

"I guess, but…" I began.

"Yes?"

"I need a bit more time to do my homework" I stated awkwardly.

This was a bold-faced lie. It had been maybe three hours since I'd gotten home, but I had grown convinced that I could spend three days on it without eating or sleeping, and I'd make barely any progress. (And the "barely any" qualifier is hardly needed.)

"Well, dinner with your parents is still important," my mom said curtly. "Besides, there's something your father and I would like to discuss with you."

Of course, I realized. It's about the note my History teacher sent. This meal is going to be fun, I can tell you that!

I gingerly stood up from my chair and followed my mother into the dining room. In the midst of the table, a giant salad bowl with chicken, broccoli, and that delectable pasta had been placed. My mouth watered, but I resisted the urge to serve myself.

"Why aren't you hungry, Makoto?" my father asked me as I glanced sheepishly at the serving bowl. "Normally you can inhale plates of this stuff."

I sighed. "I'm just not. I guess I'm stressed about the homework."

"Then it's good to take a break" my mother insisted. "It'll still be there when you go back upstairs."

She did not understand how tone-deaf that sounded. It made me feel worse, not better. The little work I'd managed to chip away at may well have regenerated by the time dinner was over.

"Maybe it is" I mumbled, serving myself some CBZ.

For about three minutes, none of us said anything. Dinner passed in relative quiet, punctuated only by the sounds of chewing and forks clinking against our plates. For some time, I could have convinced myself that the moment of reckoning would never arrive.

But it did.

"You know, Makoto," my mother said eventually, "how are your classes going? Today was your first day, after all."

There was no point in lying. If I did, it would be sniffed out faster than a TSA Houndoom sniffs out drugs at an airport. Don't ask me how parents can read their children so well - they just can.

"Well…" I started. "It was okay."

My dad raised an eyebrow. "Okay?"

"That's right, Dad. It was okay. It wasn't great by any means."

"Well, Makoto, Mr. Barnes - is he your history teacher?" my mother enquired.

The pasta I'd already eaten settled like a stone in my stomach. It was practically cement now, and needless to say, I'd lost any desire to take another bite.

"Yes, he is" I began. "What about him?"

"Don't be cute with me, Makoto," my mom replied sternly. "Don't be funny with me. I think you know exactly what I'm getting at. Did he ask you a question?"

"Uh…yes" I said sheepishly. Again, no point in lying when your audience will know you're not telling the truth right away.

"And were you able to answer it?"

"Well, I tried to answer it. I thought I knew the answer, and I was paying attention. But it was a trick question - I didn't remember the exact details."

My father sighed, running his fingers through his thinning hair. "Mr. Barnes sent us a note about your lapse. He says you need to pay better attention in class."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jeff look up from enjoying his Pokémon meal. He stiffened up, gave me an awkward glance, and then went right back to eating.

"Look," I said. "I'm doing the best I can. I'm trying hard."

"I hope that's the truth, Makoto," my father replied. "I hope that's the truth."

"Of course it is. You know me, Dad - you know that I'm a diligent student. And I would never let my attention drift away on purpose."

"Look at it this way" my mother told me. "Neither of us are mad at you. We're just disappointed."

Ah, yes, it was that classic line: I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed. It always managed to be far more painful than a simple shouting match. You could defend yourself during a shouting match - there was no way to negate the knowledge that you'd let your parents down.

"I'm sorry" I stated simply. "I promise to do better in the future. I'll pay even more attention - I'll do whatever it takes to focus harder, even if it means taking a stimulant. And I'll make it up to you somehow. I swear on Jeff's life."

At this, my Psyduck once more glanced upward, but this time he appeared even more visibly uncomfortable. His "hands" were swiftly used to plug his ears for…some reason.

"Makoto, it sounds as though you are overcompensating" my father chastised me.

"Over…what now?"

"It means," my dad continued, "that you are trying too hard to apologize, to the point where it almost doesn't sound sincere. If you are indeed sorry, you shouldn't have to tell us. You should be able to show us that you'll do better in the future."

"It's true," my mother pointed out. "When you have a job, it'll be impossible to hold it down if you can't pay attention when you don't want to. You have to bring your A-game every single day, and if you don't…".

"I get it, Mom" I moaned. "I have to dedicate all my attention to the task at hand. So are you going to punish me or not?"

After the narrow escape with Principal Lenwood, I'd wondered if my luck had been pushed as far as it would go. This was yet another test of my good fortune.

"I don't think we should" my mother told my father, as though I couldn't hear them debate. "I'm sure that knowing he failed is punishment enough."

"I agree," my dad replied. "Makoto is old enough to know that actions have consequences, and that not every consequence is a punishment."

"I've got these two things on either side of my head" I protested. "They're called ears. And I know exactly what you two were saying."

My parents both gave me odd looks, then returned to their conversation. Now that they'd clearly elected to pretend I wasn't here, I seized my opportunity to scarf down the rest of my dinner and steal away to my bedroom once more.

What a rotten day.

Not all of it had been bad, but if anything that made it worse. If I'd woken up on the wrong side of the bed, then it would be easy enough to argue that I had low expectations. If you have low expectations, you won't end up too upset when those expectations are not met.

However, when the cool boys had called me over to eat with them at lunch, I'd allowed myself to hope that the day would get better. That I would have something to look forward to, even if it was only the foggiest possibility.

And, just like a carpet being swept away from beneath my feet, or the girl yanking the football away from her "friend's" foot, my miracle had been denied. Not only that, but the mere dream of it had landed me in a world of hurt.

I paced my room anxiously, hoping that somehow this would allow me to focus on my homework. It was a long shot, to be sure, but so was sitting at my desk staring off into the approaching night. At least this way, I was doing something.

And then my eyes fell on it.

The Furret mask.

The salesman had promised me the world. He'd asserted that the masks could work miracles and move mountains. Quite frankly, I wouldn't let my imagination stretch that far, but on some level, I wanted to see just how much Tauros excrement Clint was full of.

He'd warned me not to put it on when I had first purchased it. Maybe it was unwise to do so in public. But my own bedroom was the antithesis of "in public", so I took a deep breath.

I grabbed the mask from its place in the closet and lifted it up like it weighed nothing. Of course, it weighed something, but its mass was barely noticeable even though I am far from muscular.

Here goes nothing, I thought.

Don't be ridiculous, Makoto. It's just a mask. It won't give you a third eye or whatever you're picturing.

Nonetheless, my pulse quickened as I placed the mask over my face, making sure my eyes aligned with the holes that had been carved into it. And then…

Right away, my stomach turned. No, it was worse than that - my internal organs were twisting themselves into pretzels, my bones being squeezed and molded like balloon animals at a children's fair.

I let out a slight moan, but not loudly enough that my parents would be able to hear me from the dining room. The last thing I wanted was for them to come racing upstairs at the sound of my shout, thinking I was in excruciating pain (which was admittedly true), and then I'd have to explain everything. So I tried to clamp down on the agony, but it was hard. Very hard.

Seconds later, I fell to my knees, and my legs folded in on themselves. I had the intense impulse to curl up into the fetal position, but I resisted it for a few seconds. This was a mistake.

I heard something snap, as though I'd just broken a bone, and I let out another small howl. Whatever voodoo magic the mask was working on me, I just wanted it to end. Even if I had to fess up to my parents about what I'd really been up to on the night of the Scholastic Festival, it would be worth it. Anything to make it stop!

The edges of my vision burned scarlet as rockets of pain formed in different parts of my body. The area right above my rump. The region surrounding my limbs. Even my head throbbed as though it were a vibrating gong.

I was pushed further into the fetal position, as I assumed a pose much like that of a Frogadier about to spring. Unlike that incredibly limber species, however, I did not feel remotely capable of doing so.

This isn't going to end until I either break every bone in my body or…I guess something else might stop it. But what?

After what felt like an eternity, the torture came to an end. I was left breathing heavily, clutching my chest with my…

Well, it wasn't a hand. In fact, a quick glance at the spot where my right hand had once been revealed that it had indeed been replaced with a furry paw.

What the - ?

"This shit only happens in movies" I muttered, but my voice came out differently than I expected it to. The pitch was much higher, for one.

Possibilities danced around my brain much like those sugarplums people talk about in peoples' minds on Christmas Eve. (Come to think of it, where did that saying come from, anyway?)

In any case, none of the options were good, but I knew it was probably best to face the truth head-on rather than beating around the bush. So I tried to walk.

The first thing I noticed was that my legs did not cooperate with my brain's directions. Every motion had to be planned seconds in advance, unlike the muscle memory I'd grown used to over my eighteen years in this world. It didn't help that the residual muscle aches made my head spin.

"Just get to the mirror" I muttered as I shuffled awkwardly along the floor. "Then you can look at yourself. But if…".

I shouldn't be saying this out loud. If my parents hear me, I will not hear the end of it.

Once in the bathroom, I managed to stand in front of the sink. Getting there was more like rock climbing than walking, and I swiftly realized why walking had been so hard - I had four legs.

My worst fears were confirmed when I turned to face the mirror and saw a Furret staring back at me.

DA Woods: Upon glancing at your reflection in the mirror, you saw that you had become a Furret. Is that true?

Mr. Mutsamudu: It is.

DA Woods: When you discovered that the mask Clint had sold you possessed this power, what did you think at first?

Mr. Mutsamudu: I started panicking. I fell backwards off the sink.

DA Woods: Why did you panic? Did you finally realize that actions have consequences?

Mr. Mutsamudu: I knew that already, thank you very much. No, I was just worried that I wouldn't be able to become human again. That it wouldn't be possible to take the mask off. Of course, as it turned out, this wasn't an issue - I could will myself back into my human form if I wanted it badly enough.

DA Woods: But did you think about all the possible ways such a power can be abused if it falls into the wrong hands?

Mr. Mutsamudu: I'll be honest: I didn't give it much thought. All I knew was that my life had changed forever.

DA Woods: It's fair to say that upon that first transformation, you wondered if there was anything special you'd be able to do with that power?

Mr. Mutsamudu: I suppose it is. But I had no intention of using it for nefarious means. Perhaps I'd just…

DA Woods: That's enough about that. I do not want you to incriminate yourself if you don't need to.

Mr. Mutsamudu: You could've fooled me.

After willing myself back into my human form, the Furret mask toppled off my head, landing back on the floor. It was just that - a mask.

But I wasn't done yet. That's pretty neat, I wanted to say. But I couldn't force those words out of my mouth.

Right away, everything seemed to come together for me. I realized that Clint may not have been lying after all when he'd extolled all the mask's powers.

I'm not sure about moving mountains. But this is certainly a miracle - it can't be explained by science, or at least I don't think science has explained it yet.

And then another fact knocked down the front of my skull like a battering ram. It literally caused a headache, that's how pronounced the sensation was.

If I were to show up as a Furret, perhaps donning the mask right in front of Hayley, maybe I could impress her. If nothing else, it might put me on the radar as someone to pay attention to. I could stop being a loner at school, and I could make so many friends.

Overnight, I might go from being one of the least popular students at Pastoria High to one of the most popular. Literally everyone would want my autograph, and they'd demand to know my secret - a secret, granted, that was accessible to anyone who bought masks from Clint.

Later, after I graduated, it would get even better. I could give speaking engagements as one of the few humans (if not the only human) to ever become a Pokémon and live to tell the tale. I could write a book and make millions off of it - or, better yet, use the millions I already had to hire a ghostwriter, and then make billions.

I could become the richest man on the planet. I could go off into space on my own rocket ship, colonize a new planet, and maybe even become the king of the universe…

Don't let your mind run TOO wild, Makoto, I reminded myself. After all, just a matter of hours ago, I'd been too timid to speak to Hayley. If I couldn't muster the courage to do something as simple as that, how would I live out such an elaborate fantasy?

Even if none of those fantasies came true, though, I still had my life here in Pastoria. And this new power gave me opportunities, too.

I breathed deeply, picking up the mask yet again. If cycling between the two forms would always be as painful as what I'd just been through, I would need to steel myself each time. Or maybe I could just be a Furret all the time.

My face fell as I realized that this wouldn't work. I'd surely be reported missing before long, and say what you will about Pastoria's Police Department - when they wanted to protect and serve, they were pretty good at what they did. Moreover, there were many aspects of daily living that were probably highly unpleasant as a Furret (not all of them strictly related to hygiene.) Maybe it was best to do those activities in my human form.

But right now, I could revel in this new power. I could let my fantasies run wild, because reality had not yet come crashing down on me.

And so I braced myself for the transformation again. This time it was far less painful; at least, it felt that way, though that could just be because I knew what to expect.

Now what?

The possibilities were endless! I practically jumped up and down as though the floor were a giant trampoline. I then shuffled over to the window of our apartment and looked out.

My parents and I lived on the fourth floor of our building. The narrow street looked so much further below as a Furret than it did as a human, for obvious reasons. However…

Maybe I have nine lives in this form. Maybe I've got better traction on the walls, or at least land on my feet more easily.

I don't love heights, though…is it really smart to climb out the window if I'm not certain that this form is more agile?

Yes, it was a long way down. But sometimes in life you just have to take risks without knowing whether or not they'll pay off. This was one of those times.

So I stood on my hind legs and slid open the window. The way I describe all of these tasks may make them sound trivially easy, but they were anything but. It's very hard to keep your balance on two legs when you're supposed to have four.

Anyway, now that the window was open, I scanned the nearby roofs for a gutter or something on which I could balance. Eventually, I found just that and climbed out the window.

My heart pounded as the wind made my body sway from side to side. It wasn't long before I found it increasingly difficult to retain my footing, and I toppled over to my left.

There was the sensation of falling, followed by the onset of panic as I approached what, for a Furret, was likely terminal velocity. I might not be a genius, but even I knew why it was called terminal…

Just as I knew I'd hit the ground and be heavily injured at a minimum, my body flipped over almost without any effort, and I landed on my feel with only a slight jolt, but not the bone-crushing pain I would have expected.

Wow! This form is pretty agile!

The panic was quickly whisked away, to be replaced with utmost euphoria at the knowledge that I had survived a fall from more than thirty feet. That I could withstand much more, because Pokémon were indeed more durable than humans.

I jumped for joy, then started "jogging" down a nearby alleyway. I had no destination in mind, admittedly - all I wanted was to revel in this form for all it was worth.

It wasn't long before I ended up at a small shrine dedicated to Sir Aaron, which contained a brazen statue in the shape of the ancient hero with his trusted friend. As soon as I saw the statue, I heard a popping sound.

My throat closed in on itself. Could that be a gunshot?

That doesn't make sense. My neighborhood's not that wealthy, but at least it's safe. Of course, it's all relative, isn't it?

But the sound did not repeat itself, so I felt safe to glance around. And, speak of the devil, there he was!

"Clint Cargile!" I exclaimed.

The man who'd sold me the mask smiled from ear to ear. He was breathing heavily, and his hands were on his hips, but make no mistake: He was thrilled to be here.

"Well, I didn't think I'd see you again so soon," Clint said. "But is something wrong? Do you want to return your mask?"

"Fuck no" I muttered. "I mean, pardon my language…".

"Don't worry, I cuss like a sailor."

"...but this is amazing! I see why you told me not to put it on in the view of others, though."

Clint chuckled. "Yes, my masks all have that power. And you'll do whatever it takes to achieve your goal, won't you?"

"Why wouldn't I?" I replied. "Isn't it important to strive for your dreams."

"Well, of course" Clint responded, huffing and puffing in between each word. "How is your first day as a Furret?"

"It's pretty amazing to fall from a great height and not be hurt. And it's really cool to have a different experience, even if the transformation hurts at first." Actually, it hurt the second time too, I'm just more used to it now.

The masks salesman clapped his hands together. "Yes! I'm glad you are pleased with your purchase! Like I said, the customer is always right!"

There was still something that didn't sit right with me, though. I shivered at the thought of asking this question, but my curiosity was rapidly getting the better of me.

"Uh…Clint?"

"Yes, Makoto?"

"How did you get here so suddenly?"

"Pardon me?"

"Well," I replied, "I could have sworn that you weren't here, and then you came here in an instant. Like you just materialized into existence. Do you have anything to say about that?"

The smile vanished from Clint's face. But that wasn't enough of an answer for me.

"I'm just curious," I insisted.

"I have my ways," Clint shot back. "And these secrets are revealed on a need-to-know basis. If you don't need to know, I don't want you to know."

I did not know what to say, but luckily I didn't have to choose an answer. Clint solved that problem for me.

"Look, Makoto," he continued. "There's no need to question it. Hopefully the mask's capabilities make it clear that I'm the real deal. Nothing else needs to be discussed."

"Quite frankly," I responded, "you're giving me a lot more questions than answers. Just tell me - I promise I won't get upset."

Can I really keep that promise, though? I'll have feelings about it regardless.

"I don't think so," Clint muttered. Then, glancing at his wrist: "You'd better hurry back. Your parents are going to get suspicious if you're gone too long."

He was right, and I knew it. It was only a matter of time before one of them entered my room to check on me, only to find that it was empty. That wouldn't end well, no siree.

"Fine," I spat. "But you'll tell me eventually. You'll find that I get curious very easily."

"And there's nothing wrong with that," Clint told me. "Curiosity, in some ways, can be just as powerful as the mask you're wearing right now. You just need to know when to utilize that gift, and how not to abuse it."

"Right."

"This isn't like a video game, Makoto. Don't just press 'X' to continue. What I'm telling you is vitally important."

I rolled my eyes. "You're just a mask salesman, Clint. Are you going to tell me that you've got the key to enlightenment?"

"Just know this, Makoto: Every gift comes with a price if you don't know how to use it sparingly. You'll understand what I mean eventually. There's a reason we don't eat ice cream for breakfast."

I flinched, because that was an odd statement. "How come?"

"Because too much sugar isn't good for you. That's all."

"Huh."

"In any case," Clint said, "you should head home. Maybe we'll cross paths again; maybe we won't. But thank you once again for your purchase."

This encounter had absolutely raised more questions than answers, but I was eager for it to be over all the same. As I made my way back to my house, all I could think about was this: Could that analogy have a deeper meaning?