Note: I have nothing to do with Here is Greenwood and its characters except to be a fan who enjoys the OVAs a lot. This story is my extrapolation of the storylines as seen in the OVAs. I apologize if this story doesn't quite fit in with the manga.

Shinobu picked up the receiver and dialed the number. It rang twice before someone on the other end picked up.

"May I speak with Mrs. Matsumoto, please?" he asked politely.

"This is she."

"How do you do?" Shinobu continued. "My name is Tezuka Shinobu. I'm calling regarding your son, Haruki."

There was a long moment of silence. "My son is dead," the woman said finally, her voice flat and uninviting.

"That is what I wish to talk to you about," Shinobu said. "I--"

"There's nothing to talk about!" the woman shouted. "He's dead! That's all there is to it! Now please, don't bother me again."

Shinobu's eyes narrowed. "Mrs. Matsumoto," he said, his voice low and intense, "I suggest that you hear me out. If you hang up the phone now, I know you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

"What are you trying to--"

"I am not trying to cause you any more pain," Shinobu continued. "In fact, I may be able to ease your pain and grief. However, you must be willing to listen to what I have to say."

There was another long silence, longer than the one before.

"All right," the woman said. Her voice sounded tired. "Tell me."

"Would it be possible for you to come and meet with me?" Shinobu said. "It's too complicated to discuss over the phone."

"All right," the woman said again.

"Then let me give you the address."

* * *

"Do you really think this will work?" Haru asked.

"Don't worry," Mitsuru said. No matter how insane or farfetched his ideas may be, Shinobu always manages to somehow make things go the way he wants them to." He turned to Kazuya. "Isn't that right?" He grinned at the grimace that crossed the younger boy's face.

"He's right," Kazuya muttered. "I don't know how he does it, but every time Shinobu-sempai wants something to happen, it does. And it happens exactly the way he wants it to."

Mitsuru clapped a hand on Haru's shoulder. "There, you see? Even Hasukawa agrees that it will work. And if you want any more confirmation, just ask Aoki here."

The other boy nodded. "He's right, Haru," Aoki said. Then he shook his head. "I can't believe you're a human being again."

Haru smiled. "Neither can I," he said. "But, you know, I miss being able to transform into mist. It made sneaking around Greenwood that much easier."

They all looked up as Shinobu entered the room.

"How did it go?" Mitsuru asked his roommate. "Will she come?"

Shinobu nodded. "She'll be here shortly after lunch," he said. "We should plan on eating early so we'll be here when she arrives."

Aoki stood up. "Well," he said to Haru, "whatever happens, good luck! I have to open the arcade. If you have time, why don't you come up later on? You still owe me a rematch."

Mitsuru grinned. "Why don't we schedule it for 1:30 this afternoon? Shinobu and I can have a betting pool set up by then."

Kazuya glared at him. "Can't you think about anything else besides money?" he demanded.

Mitsuru smirked at him. "Sure," he drawled. "How to get more food from your tray, how to take advantage of your innocence, how to trick you into doing all the dirty work, what to get you for your birthday..."

Mitsuru grinned maliciously as Kazuya, who'd been becoming more and more angry with him suddenly flushed with confusion. "I...I guess that's okay, then," the other boy stammered.

Aoki laughed and left the room.

Mitsuru turned back to Shinobu. "So we basically kill time until lunch?"

"Yes."

* * *

"Tezuka-kun, Room 211, you have a guest in the waiting room."

Shinobu stood up. "This is it," he told the others. "Don't come down until after I've gone inside. Then, I'll come and open the door. Do you all remember what to say?"

"I don't know if I can go through with this," Kazuya said softly.

Shinobu focused on him. "You have to," he said. "For Haru's sake."

Kazuya straightened. "All right."

Shinobu nodded, then led the way out of the room. He proceeded down the stairs while the others waited on the landing. He went to the waiting room and opened the door.

Sitting in one of the chairs was a middle-aged woman. She looked like she might be in her late thirties or early forties, but there was a weariness about her that made her seem as though she was much older.

"Mrs. Matsumoto," Shinobu said, sitting down in the chair across from her, "I am Tezuka Shinobu. Thank you for coming."

"Mr. Tezuka," the woman said softly, "please don't waste any more of my time. My son is dead. He's been dead for over a year now. I want to move on with my life."

Shinobu shook his head. "All right," he said. "Then let's go over the facts. A little over a year ago there was an automobile accident. A vehicle went off the road and exploded. The driver of the car was too badly burned to be recognizable. However, investigators found a wallet lying nearby, apparently flung from the car by the explosion. Because of the wallet, and because the car was registered under your son, the police identified the person in the car as your son, Haruki."

Mrs. Matsumoto shivered, but said nothing.

"Based on this evidence," Shinobu continued, "the police concluded that your son died in the accident. You took possession of his remains, had them cremated, and held funeral services for your son."

Mrs. Matsumoto's shivering became more pronounced, but she still said nothing.

Shinobu took a deep breath. "However, your son is not dead."

Mrs. Matsumoto's head snapped up. "What!" she demanded. "Is this some sort of joke?"

Shinobu stood up. "It is no joke," he said as he crossed to the door. "And here is my proof." He opened the door, revealing Mitsuru, Kazuya, and Haru standing on the other side.

Mrs. Matsumoto jumped up. Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

Shinobu gestured for the others to enter as he returned to his seat. Kazuya came and sat on his chair's arm while Mitsuru leaned on the back. Haru took the seat next to his mother.

Mrs. Matsumoto found her voice. She was staring at Haru. "How--" She stopped. "It's can't be--"

Haru took her hand in his. "It's really me, Mother," he said gently.

She yanked her hand away and stared at it, then reached out and touched Haru's face. "I don't understand," she whispered. "How is this possible?"

Shinobu cleared his throat. "If you'll let me explain?" he asked.

Mrs. Matsumoto spun around in her seat. She opened her mouth, but again no words came out. She ended up nodding slowly.

Shinobu leaned back in his seat. "What we're about to tell you starts before the accident even took place," he said. "Some of it is speculation, some of it is what Haru himself remembers, so if there are any gaps in the story, I apologize." Shinobu cleared his throat again.

"On the night of the accident," Shinobu began, "Haru went out in his car. However, sometime between the time he left home and the time of the accident, he was attacked and beaten. Whoever jumped him stole his wallet, his car keys, and his car. Haru was left lying on the ground, unconscious. Passers-by found him, called the police, and an ambulance took Haru to the hospital." He nudged Kazuya with his elbow.

"Because of the beating," Kazuya said, taking up the story, "Haru was left in a coma for nearly two weeks. By the time he came out of it, the accident had faded from everybody's mind. Except yours, of course," he added quickly. "But you--and everybody else--believed that Haru had died in the accident and were proceeding with funeral arrangements."

"Haru came out of his coma," Mitsuru said, "but he couldn't remember who he was or where he lived. And because his identification had been stolen, there was no way to identify him. And because everyone believed he was dead, his medical records had been sealed and no one thought to check his fingerprints or dental records against those of a dead man."

"Haru couldn't stay at the hospital," Shinobu continued, "because he was physically recovered and was occupying bed space that the hospital needed. Feeling sorry for him, one of the doctors underwrote his medical expenses and arranged for Haru to stay with a friend. This friend happened to be Hasukawa Kazuhiro, a doctor who'd forsaken the hospital and a private practice to become the head of the infirmary at a boy's school."

"Kazuhiro is my older brother," Kazuya said, "and he's the doctor here at Ryokuto Academy. Haru came to live with us last spring, which is why we started calling him Haru." He grinned. "It was something of a surprise to learn that it was really his name."

"Since that time," Shinobu continued, "Haru has been living with the Hasukawa family during school vacations. However, when school was in session he lived here in our dormitory, even though he wasn't a student here. Doctor Hasukawa felt that it might help him to remember if he was with boys his own age doing things that boys his age were likely to do. As an alumnus and administrative member of the school, and because Greenwood is a private residence separate from the school, Doctor Hasukawa was able to establish Haru here."

Mrs. Matsumoto swallowed. "You mean that Haru's been living here for an entire year and never called me?"

"How could he?" Shinobu said, shrugging. "He only regained his memory two days ago."

Mrs. Matsumoto turned and stared at Haru. "Two days ago?" she repeated. "Why didn't you call then?"

Haru swallowed. "Well, first I had to recover from--"

"Recover? From what?"

"That would be my fault," Mitsuru said. "We were playing soccer at the school field. I accidentally kicked the ball when Haru wasn't looking. It hit him hard in the back of his head. He was unconscious for nearly an hour in the infirmary. Though," he added, "that might be because of the painkiller Doctor Hasukawa gave him."

"After I came to," Haru said, shooting a mock glare at Mitsuru, "I had to sort through my memories. It was confusing. I had all my memories from before, but I also remembered everything that had happened after I left the hospital. Something's didn't match up, so I had to think things through first."

"By the time he was sure about who he was," Mitsuru said, "it was late. We didn't want to bother you by calling you at eleven o'clock at night. The next morning, Shinobu thought it would be better if we found out more about Haru first. Had he been reported missing? Did anybody think he was dead? We did some research, and Shinobu found his obituary."

"It took us a while longer to determine how to let you know that your son was still alive," Shinobu said. "We finally decided on a plan, and that plan resulted in you being here." He stood up. "And now, I know you'd like to spend some time with your son alone, so we'll be leaving. Haru we'll be upstairs." He led Mitsuru and Kazuya out the door, closing it firmly behind him.

Mitsuru let out a huge breath. "That's a relief!" he said. "I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep that up!"

"You?" Kazuya said. "You were doing great. I was the one having trouble."

"You both did fine," Shinobu said. "But then again, what would you expect from three fine actors?"

* * *

Kazuya looked up as Haru entered the room. "Haru?" he said, sitting up. "I thought you'd...I thought you'd be going home with your mother."

Haru shook his head slowly. "She wanted me to," he said, "but I told her that I had to take care of things here first." He sat down at Kazuya's desk. "Whatever life I had before...it's gone. I have to start all over again." He gazed directly at him. "And the only place I know to start is here...here at Greenwood, with you and Shinobu and Mitsuru."

Kazuya blinked. "We'll help you," he said immediately. "You know we will."

"I know," Haru said, his voice soft. "But how?"

"It doesn't matter," Kazuya said firmly. "No matter what happens, you'll be here among friends." He grinned. "Besides, you know that whenever Shinobu-sempai wants something to happen, it happens."

Haru grinned. "You're right."

They remained silent for a few long moments. Then Haru spoke.

"I asked my mother if she'd be willing to let me enroll at Ryokuto for the next year," he said, "and she agreed."

"That's great!" Kazuya said, smiling. Then he frowned. "But the next term starts soon," he said. "Is there enough time?"

"Maybe Shinobu can pull some strings," Haru suggested.

"Probably," Kazuya said. Then he grinned. "Did you tell him yet that you're staying here?"

"No, not yet."

Kazuya felt a bit of superiority over his two sempai. "Then let's go to the arcade and tell Aoki the good news. Then the two of you can continue your tournament of video games."

He stood up and started pushing urging Haru towards the door.

Haru laughed. "What's the rush?" he asked.

"Enjoy the playing time you have," Kazuya said. "Because once Mitsuru finds out, there's going to be a major betting pool in place, and everyone's going to be in the arcade watching you and Aoki compete."

Haru grinned. "Then let's go!"

Kazuya grinned back at his friend and followed him out of the room.

* * *

Mitsuru rolled away from the wall, rubbing his ear.

Just then, the door opened and his roommate entered.

Mitsuru climbed down from his bunk. "Well?" he asked.

"Our suspicions were correct," Shinobu said. Now all that remains is to return the favor."

"How do you plan on doing that?" Mitsuru asked.

Shinobu shook his head. "I'll think about that later. What about Haru?"

Mitsuru grinned. "He's staying, at least for tonight. And I believe he wants to enroll at Ryokuto and move in here legitimately."

Shinobu's eyebrow rose. "So, what are he and Kazuya doing now?"

"They're heading towards the arcade."

"Good." Shinobu took out his account book. "So how shall we set up the pool this time?" he asked.

Mitsuru shook his head. "Is that all you think about? Making money?"

"Not at all," Shinobu said serenely. "I also think about how to take advantage of your good nature, how to trick you into doing all the dirty work, what to get you for your birthday..."

Mitsuru laughed. "That's dirty!" he protested.

"True, though," Shinobu said. "And remember, you told Kazuya you were planning on getting him a birthday present."

"Okay, okay!" Mitsuru said, still laughing. "Let's do it this way..."

* * *

In a luxurious suite of rooms at a hotel in western Tokyo, a dark-haired woman huddled deeper into her blankets, reaching up to replace the damp towel that had slipped to the side when she moved.

Her fever had broken, at least. Still, the illness had left her weak and exhausted. From what she'd read in the newspaper, she would still be bedridden for a few more days.

Her only consolation was that there were others who would be suffering more thanks to the mischief a special gift she'd sent would be causing.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in," she called weakly, her voice shaking.

A man stepped into the room, the austerity of his black suit and dark glasses marred by the mask he wore over his mouth and nose. He was holding a package in his hands.

"This came for you, Madam," he said. He drew closer to the bed, set the package down, and quickly left the room.

Curious, the woman looked studied the package. There was nothing on it except her name, written across the front of it in large, elegantly drawn characters. Now even more interested in its contents, she tore open the wrapping.

Her eyes widened as she saw the contents. She dropped the package to the bed.

"It can't be," she whispered. She reached slowly out and pulled away the rest of the wrapping.

Settled on her lap was a book. Its cover seemed to be comprised of individual pieces stuck together, like a jigsaw puzzle, only all the pieces were the same color and the lines webbing across the cover were more like cracks than anything else. When she opened the book, the pages were all completely black.

"How--"

She'd made arrangements to have the book conveniently fall into the hands of her brother's gullible friend in the hopes that it would cause mischief and keep her brother occupied while she worked on her master plan. Because of her illness, however, her plan hadn't progressed a step. Now, somehow, the book had ended up back in her hands, only it was completely empty.

A note fluttered to the bedspread from the pages. She picked it up and read it.

"My dear sister, I am sorry to hear that you are ill. You will be grateful to know that the malady you are currently suffering from will never afflict another living person, for the vector of its initial transmission has been eliminated. You also have our extreme gratitude for arranging for the book you now hold in your hands to enter into our possession. It has been most useful in aiding the situations of three kindred spirits and to help a dear friend of ours with a most unusual problem. Having no further use for it, I am returning it to you in hopes that you may find some use for it. Your loving brother, Shinobu."

She clenched the note tightly in her hand, fully intending to rip it to shreds, but the effort of just squeezing it exhausted her and she fell back into her pillows, panting for breath. It was then, as she spread the note out again, that she noticed the post-script.

"P.S.: Don't play with things you don't understand. You may find yourself doing more than enduring an ancient Egyptian illness.--H.K."

"How dare he--" she began. Then she noticed a second post-script, several lines below the first.

"P.P.S.: You should really give your men a vacation. They're so stiff that you could use them for an ironing board. Either that, or teach them how to design costumes.--I.M."

"I'll get--" she began, but a coughing fit interrupted her. By the time it ended, she was even more exhausted than before.

"One day," she gasped weakly, "I'll get even." She coughed again.

"If I ever get over this!"

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