TOUEI (In Progress, Reposting)

[Cascade]

Hello everyone. After a long hiatus, I've decided to start writing again. Though my status since graduating college has been unstable and I've often wondered if I still had it left in me, I've decided to force myself to get back into the game. Already the ideas are flowing back. Maybe I'm being too open, but I really hope doing this again will give me something to look forward to in the meaningless void that is post-grad life.

I'm probably not remembered by a whole lot of people, but I made a fic years ago as an alternate universe sequel of sorts to Kieran's Legacies of Fate. TOUEI is a central story with related side chapters split over various times in history. I only managed to nearly complete one side chapter, but it only has maybe one or two segments left. A lot of people were confused about the way the sidestory connects with the main plot, but I think that if you examine it closely, it'll become clear. It'll definitely become more clear as the story progresses.

This fic is pretty action light; it adopts the seinen sort of tempo I've come to like with mostly character interaction and occasional fights. As usual Tsukihime, Fate/Stay Night, and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of Kinoko Nasu and Type-Moon, blah blah.

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[Old text from typemoon.us]

This fanfic for me is a kind of experiment. I decided that for sure, I'd finish it and write a *long one* this time, partly because it was something fun to do, and partly because I wanted to see for myself whether I could write something novel-sized, or at least light-novel sized. If I am to have any hope as a writer in the future, I've got to be able to stick with my projects, even if there are long breaks in between. With my propensity for distraction and writer's block, keeping a consistent schedule isn't as easy for me as it used to be, but at least the updates are coming. To give you an idea of how huge this thing is, and how freaking terrified I am of it, the side story Ashura is just one of five I've planned. And it's only 2/3s of the way finished.

Although it may not seem like it now, TOUEI, as I've planned it, is going to be a really long story. My previous fanfiction, Traveler, was to be about the length of an actual Tsukihime scenario, and with the new VN engine Miraploy has wonderfully provided, it might be possible for me to write that story again, as it was meant to be written.

Still, this is my main project now. I was disappointed with Traveler for a few reasons, the foremost of which being that it was oppressively dark. Although I *like* dark, don't get me wrong, I have always felt that in a truly interesting story, some elements of all moods ought to be present. Elements of comedy, romance, drama, horror, and action; all of these are integral to creating a large, multi-layered and complex fiction. While the inevitable result of someone's writing style, unless they've got quite a handy bit of control over themselves, is almost always leaning towards one of those genres principally than the others, the variety still exists.

I thought that with Traveler, you had to hold your breath and go under for a long time until you could surface and gasp again, the atmosphere was so stifling. This might seem like a strange thought to those of you who read it, but the plot developments I had planned would have easily made it the most depressing of any path in Tsukihime, were it to be in the visual novel. (Yes, beating even Akiha's...) In any case, you only really got brief moments of half-hearted comedy (Which I'm not all that confident at.) to break the larger themes of insanity and paranoia.

TOUEI isn't going to be like that. The writing is simpler, the characters original (Mostly.). My idea was to create a fic that explores Nasu's setting, rather than focuses on established characters in the games. Certainly, characters like Ciel, Hisui, Arcuied and Aoko might appear, out of the fact that they featured heavily in Kieran's preceding fic, but only briefly. In this fic, less important characters from the TM universe will feature more heavily than ones who got a role in the actually released games and novels. Needless to say, you can expect for there to be more than a few fateful meetings. The primary characters are Kieran's "daughter," who has all but hijacked my fic and become more of the heroine than my own protagonist, whose design I took from an old roleplay, and inverted his personality. Would you believe he was angry ALL THE TIME in his original form? You would have hated him, trust me. (If you don't hate him already. XD) And of course, the central Touko-like character cements the structure of this story as similar to Kara no Kyoukai; episodic, with side story chapters that will eventually tie into the main plot. (Really, they will!) There are quite a few original characters, all of whom I created with the TM universe in mind, but some whose personality and true nature/powers reference other fictional universes as well. However, this isn't a crossover fic.

I'm actually primarily an RPer, and used to think writing fanfiction was for self-indulgent, poorly skilled writers who just liked to make Mary Sues. Now I think it... might be mostly true still. XD I might be one of those. Well, no matter. Whatever the case is, I think that a lot of fic writers I've seen here, especially Kieran, have some actual skill for once, and I appreciate most of all his willingness to let me use his character, since it is a sign of his confidence in my writing ability and understanding of Takara. He also puts up with me bugging him endlessly about whether she would do this a certain way, or that at all, or if this little statement is right, or if her mannerisms are all in order, etc. In any case, thanks go out to Kieran again.

And of course to TM, which created the huge sandbox I'm playing in.

Yeah yeah, mox nox in rem. Please comment and rate. Speculations welcome on any chapter. I need your input; without it, I'll be sad.

You wouldn't want to make me sad, would you?

[Cascade]

It was an acrid smell. Not in its singular qualities, for it was too strong to allow any judgments about it. It overpowered his senses, closed in on all sides. In the darkness, he could feel it crawling along his armor, like a second skin, loose and deadened to feeling; and as the atmosphere reached the true, exposed skin at the base of his neck, it was a rough, unpleasant situation. Not even his tightly bound haramaki, with its rigid metal plates and silk rope, could constrict his chest more than the oppressive stench, filling and corrupting his lungs with every breath. Deep, tropical heat drew forth beads of sweat upon his creased brow, and his hindered breath struggled to emerge from behind his face-mask, a plate of steel frozen in a bestial grimace.

The smell came from below. That’s why it could creep up his body so. He knew the thing he followed was near, and in the darkened room, lit only by a few, sparse candles, he felt its desire. Every shadow let out imaginary lunges of murderous intent.

But that sense was unnecessary. It had left behind a trail of its work.

His sandaled feet soaked themselves in what could have been a pool of shallow water. But the thickness and consistency of it clung fast to him, and even with a strong heart, he dared not look down. Invisible, robust things, some soft, some metal, brushed against every step. At times he felt himself stopping, steeled but somehow frantic eyes searching every corner of the un-navigable blackness. The grip he held on his katana was stone-like, but not out of bravery. Shame and bravery had ceased to exist when he’d entered the keep. That low ceiling, and the heavy oak pillars boxed him in, leaving him nothing but shadows and the things upon the floor he refused to look at. His feet were entirely saturated in it in by now, and they dragged. He could no longer hear his steps on the formerly slick, almost lacquered cherry wood floor.

The sound of ragged breathing ahead had crept up on him even from directly before his face. Something was there in the darkness, and the candle posts had petered off. Its voice was hideous, and each gulp, a wet hiss of drawn air, filled him with revulsion. He had to cut, dispatch the thing right away. It wasn’t any longer because he knew that thing had cut down every one of his allies. They were samurai, and prepared for death. No matter how torturous. It was simply that his mind would not accept the existence of a living, breathing, avatar of abject terror standing before him, back turned. Its fear had to be appeased, and only one sacrifice would do.

A blade, that of a nodachi, but perhaps his own height, held in one dark hand, laying disrespectfully tip against the floor. The curved point was embedded in the red floor, perfectly still.
The armor was a dark, impure crimson-no, dyed in crimson. Heat emanated from every orifice of the shadow-covered shape that his eyes could only barely comprehend. With every gasp of air, its heaving shoulders filled the silent mortuary with pure dread, and sucked from him the strength in his chest and proud arms.

Only fear remained behind.

He felt it move before it even turned to face him. It was because his eyes picked up on the ripple in the “floor” the sword point buried itself in. Long, pure, circular ripples that traveled across murky shapes to brush against his warm feet.

The helm upon the hunched shoulders of the enemy warrior twisted to face its enemy. It faced his frozen, metal yell of anger with an identical one, but that mouth carried within it two thick swords no human jaw could have supported. It was enough for the samurai to imagine that mask was his enemy’s actual face. The red armor’s back was studded with quills like that of a porcupine; until the samurai strained his eyes and saw that they were arrows buried deep within, saturated with blowfish poison. Yet still the beast stood there with its feet invisible, and rusted, bloody sword bare.

But behind that mask were eyes that even in the darkness, he could somehow perceive. Cold, perfectly round, and brimming with a dim light. The face they were set deep in was stiff with the rigor of fury, tensing and pulling with each breath. Within those eyes he recalled the stories of dark times before the daimyo, and before their retainers. Of an age of blood and consumed flesh. A place in their country where human men dared not set foot, for only there in the world would they be eaten. Man, who fed upon the flesh of lesser beings, would be food for devils that should not have ever emerged from Naraku. Those tales were the domain of children not men, but even so, the recollection surfaced unwelcome inside his mind.

It raised a thick, tree-trunk like arm and began its approach. The sounds of its breath strengthened, cutting through his ears and limbs, making him week. The extremities of his body became useless, like they had suddenly fled far from him and the frantic commands of his mind to face his enemy, to raise his katana into a defensive posture. It seemed as though the legs beneath him wilted and crumpled like trampled flowers. He fell to his knees in a sanguine splash. The barely recognizable pieces of meat resting below him violated his vision without mercy. His fingers finally crumbled away from the grip of his blade, the hilt dipped in the fast-sticking dye, to join with those beneath them. Incomplete, and cold. No response but the trace heat of life bleeding away, slowly.

There was nothing more left to him but to be scattered amongst those below, in the blackened hallway of butchers.

[Cascade]

The dark haired girl’s hasty footsteps carried her across the plaza towards the class she should have been at ten minutes ago. Another five minutes lay between her and her target building, on the spread out, urban campus of Jin-Sei University, in Akitaka City. The sky above her head was cloudless, and the sun set itself like a burning white pearl in the air. The girl outran its rays; the breeze surrounding her long stride, tall for a Japanese youth, blanketed her with its coolness, and the sunlight raced along behind her shadow in a frantic race.

She’d overslept that morning, but it wasn’t her fault, really. It couldn’t be helped that a long time before she even enrolled, someone decided that the girls’ dormitory and the medical science classes would be spread out over ten city blocks. Of course it couldn’t be helped that she hadn’t received her bicycle yet, and the dorms weren’t close enough to the local tram to be worth it. After all, she had only recently settled at the university after her high school testing, and she had feared, with her average-to-mediocre grades, that she would have ended up “ronin” for a time until she could get another chance. That she even made it to a great school like Jin-Sei was an uncomfortable miracle. She’d been able to follow a few of her friends… but she also felt like a newborn dunce. There was a time when being a bit less of an academic was acceptable; she’d always been the strongest at kendo and athletics, and had no difficulty with home economics, and in high schools of her sort, it was acceptable to be a bit too “relaxed” with one’s schoolwork. Though, her mother would have taken issue with that belief; it was her misfortune to be born to a teacher. That too, couldn’t be helped.

“Takaraaaaa~!”

The already-late Aozaki Takara turned her head towards the other freshman, was even more tardy than she was. The light breeze traveled through her hair, which in the cloudless daylight revealed subtle hints of brown. That fair-skinned face Takara’s raven hair framed had lost none of its vitality or youthful purity from over a year ago, undefeated by hard experiences her exhausting friend couldn’t imagine. The short-sleeved summer variant of the college wear did away with the typical long-sleeved black blazer, which would have been oppressively hot but retained the white shirt and dark red plaid skirt, which swayed loosely around her fast steps. Takara could cover a great deal of ground quickly compared to her close, high school acquaintance, who scurried after her frantically.

“Takara, I told you, wait for me… We’ll both be bad students today together, right?”

Momoko, hardly changed from her high school days, didn’t look like much, but despite her childish demeanor had actually managed to get higher grades than her friend. It was a little embarrassing for the more serious of the two, but Takara was just glad she wouldn’t be entering an entirely unfamiliar phase of life without a familiar face to guide her. Her other friend Arisa had managed to enroll at the famous Ritsumeikan. It was a surprise for an otherwise unobtrusive observer girl, but she had the grades. It wouldn’t be easy to keep in touch with her, but Takara was set on trying.

Of course, she always had her parents. The cell phone in her pocket carried on it an embarrassing text message that surely reminded the girl to wake up earlier, and study hard. It had no meaning, since Takara had inherited more than her father’s unusual Eyes, and skill with a knife. She had also inherited his hatred of mornings.

“Father seems to be a ‘selective narcoleptic,’ like he used to be a ‘selective anemic.’ I guess I’m not so lucky.”

“Ah, I’m sorry, Momoko. I just got nervous. I guess if I’m already this late, we might miss the lecture period entirely. I’m sorry I slept in…” Takara looked downwards, embarrassed, clasping her book bag in front of her. “You didn’t have to wait for me, you know.”

Momoko shook her head, pigtails bobbing. “Eheh~, your mom is going to be angry with you anyways. I decided I won’t make things any worse for you!” She laughed, walking alongside Takara with a slight jump in her step.

Takara smiled uncomfortably. “That reminder about Mother in itself is making it worse…”

“I appreciate it, but this isn’t any change for you, really, is it? Rushing to class.”

“Hey~! I’m on time most days, or every other day. We have a bit more freedom at this school than HS; I have to enjoy it.”

“Without me around, and on leave to watch the babies, my mom will probably take her anger out on dad,” she sighed, half-joking, “so unlike you, I can’t relax at all.”

In her mind, she could almost see her mother’s blue-eyed stare, arms crossed before her chest in her typical expression of disapproval. That look, which probably had been reserved for the worst of the Church’s enemies in her younger days, was at the very moment being turned upon Takara, or so she imagined. Her pace unconsciously increased.

Still, it had been a long time since she could relax so easily. The anxiety over being late seemed childlike in comparison to the fears she had experienced in her high school days.

She had been involved in the War of the Holy Grail. The fear of death was ever-present; if not of her own, then of her father, or her mother… or that man… Her father and mother lived against all odds. That much itself was a miracle that dwarfed even things that would have seemed monumental in the days before the war, like her acceptance. In the end, she had been delivered, and Takara had “him” to thank for limiting her loss to only one.

Only him alone. From the beginning, maybe, it had just been him alone. Why he felt he needed to shoulder everything himself, and sacrifice himself alone for their sake, Takara didn’t understand. Since, after all, he had kept so much from her. Even his name, he did not entrust her with.

Even though she knew it wasn’t the case, she couldn’t help but feel cheated. Like that man had selfishly wrapped himself in his cloak of enigma in his final moments, and pushed her away. If she had only known his name, Takara might have understood his feelings. A strong sentiment within him beyond “love,” or “friendship” had to have been there within his heroic heart, something that made sacrifice possible. And yet simplistic emotions such as those seemed incomplete descriptions of what brewed within her as well. Avenger remained a mystery in everything at his core, up to his last moments. All Takara knew of him was his willingness to protect her at any cost, and that when he died, she felt sad.

He had been, probably, an irreplaceable person. She only had to be a bit honest with herself to realize that Avenger had changed her forever.

“That idiot… If he only knew-”

“Takara?”

She’d departed again. Momoko was staring at her with concern. Takara could only imagine the distant face she had been wearing up until then, eyes hazy with the intoxicating draught of memory.

“…Sorry. I spaced out for a moment.”

“What’s wrong? You seem sad. And not just about being late…”

Takara waved her hand and smiled to dispel any worries her well-meaning friend had.

“No no, Momoko, I’m fine. I’m lucky to even be able to daydream these days. Studying for the exam was so hard; between my mother’s tutoring and my dad’s frequent sicknesses, I thought I was going to faint on the day of the test.”

She brushed the edge of her chin with her index finger, looking upwards thoughtfully. “And here I am, walking calmly to class like I have a second summer ahead of me...”

The worried face brightened up again.

“Aw, I feel so sorry for you. But don’t worry. We’ll be okay even if we’re late, since you worked hard enough just to keep me company at my school! I’m so honored~!”

“It’s not like I just came here for you-Agh!”

Takara let out a startled cry as Momoko latched on in a bear-like hug. She struggled, but even though she was strong, trying to pull off the remora girl was akin to ridding herself of her own shadow. Momoko’s words were garbled as Takara pushed at her face, far too close to her own cheek for comfort.

“You’re tha gweatest~!”

“I’m-really-glad-too-now-let-me-go!”

“Noo, you’re too cruel. Looking so worried like that, what are you trying to do to me!? I was touched by your troubles! I can’t afford to let you go~!”

“Alright-already-just-!”

Takara managed to squirm out of her friend’s grasp halfway. In the midst of their power struggle, she set eyes upon something unusual. Normally it wouldn’t have even warranted her attention, and she had even been distracted at that moment; perhaps it had been the weird mood, or her state of mind, but she noticed the gardener at the edge of the plaza’s flowerbed.

Akitaka was not a large city, but a new one. In an entirely different area of Misaki's prefecture, it had a temperate climate and a wide coastal basin to work with, as well an almost perfectly circular urban area. Even at the expense of development, the local corporations and urban planning seemed to insist on not expanding the city’s boundaries beyond the circular limit. It was said that a certain local superstition resulted in the city’s perfectly round limits.

In historic times, the region had been largely unpopulated by anything but shrines and farming land, but when the shipping industry grew strong, so did the local population’s wallets, and the small towns merged into one large city surrounding the Ginga River, a winding, s-shaped path that cut through the center of the city and emptied into the bay. Since it was built hastily in comparison to cities like Takara’s hometown of Misaki, and Fuyuki city, it had little heritage behind it. And cities with little heritage to call their own often sought to steal the heritage of others: much of Akitaka City’s architecture subtly emulated other parts of the world, suggesting an almost multinational setting that the city most definitely did not have. Most buildings were of a typically ultramodern glass and metal high-rise template. Local eateries adopted French and Italian names and decorations, even if they were simply serving typical café food. Many houses went for an unappealing off-white, eggshell-colored fake Mediterranean look. Streets would often terminate in a railed ending specifically meant for overlooking the sea, with a crisscrossing zigzag of stairways descending along the steep hill’s face.

Some public spaces attempted to mimic old gardens and rest areas of historic Spain, such as the plaza Takara walked through that morning. Those grounds were the property of Jin-Sei’s campus, only recently sold to them. Named “Jin-Sei” in Roman characters, its name was meant to mean both “life” and “human star” in Japanese, referencing their policy of allowing individual students to live freely while at the same time being singular representatives of the college, “shining” on their own. In order to make Jin-Sei students identifiable while they worked in the city or relaxed in public places, Jin-Sei encouraged, but did not force, a uniform, which was contemporary and visually appealing to the students. Most of them wore the clothes voluntarily, but Takara wore them because she was so new, she wasn’t yet aware that there was no actual rule associated with it. The University had ties to the same number of companies that had proposed the new urban development of Akitaka City, and was a great draw to people wanting to move somewhere modern from the multitude of sparsely populated rural villages in the mountains further inland. Jin-Sei's graduates tended to stay in the city and work to improve it, so there was never any shortage of labor and intelligent minds.

Before the classes had officially opened, she’d walked this way before and noticed an older man with a wide, thatched hat that seemed as tall as he was, carefully tending to the plants and even strategically grown ivy that was allowed to climb over the edges of the central fountain with only a prisoner’s freedom. But today the gardener was someone unfamiliar, and that drew her attention.

He was very tall, to the point that Takara had initially thought he was foreign, and quite well tanned, probably from months of labor without respite from the sun. Though clearly Japanese, he could have easily been Okinawan, though a bit pale in comparison. He wore a loose-fitting tank top and messy black hair that was tied into a ponytail behind his head, seemingly tied with a small chain, like a Buddhist rosary. She could tell because the beads that insinuated themselves within his similarly colored hair were just slightly brown, not unlike her own hair color. His build was strong; his exposed arms defined and fairly muscled in a very familiar way. He wore black pants with a silver wallet chain. Takara also noticed the gold ring set in the lobe of his left ear. Apparently unaware of the two girls across the open space who viewed him from the side, the young man, who couldn’t have been any older than they were, absently watered a thick basin full of azaleas. His face was slightly long, but in profile, seemed crafted like a sculpture in transition. Like a neutral face about to change expressions any moment, emerging from a painstakingly chiseled stone, he carried a small, quiet smile and thin, gentle eyes that contradicted his almost punk-like earring and rough manner of dress. The seemingly black pools of his pupils watched caringly over the long-handled garden sprinkler he held loosely in one wide, strong-looking hand, lost in the reflecting shower of stars that spread itself across the shaking leaves of the azaleas.

Before Takara realized it, she’d been looking at him for a few seconds. Who was he? Even though he looked like a student, he was there, tending to the plants. Perhaps he was a local gardener, or the son of the man who came the day before. He seemed at peace with the world while he watered the plants. The serenity in his sleepy expression provoked a strange twisting in her chest. It knotted its way through her heart and curled up her spine, tensing her back and pulling her arms taut to her sides. It took root in the base of her neck and reached into the far, inactive corners of her brain. The memories flooded back even stronger now.

The young man carried on watering, shifting a bit and scratching with his free hand underneath his ponytail. The black hair spread itself wire-thin over his long fingers.

Takara felt uneasy. She was starting college. She’d barely lived through a series of frightening and dangerous events. She had a sickly father who filled her with worry equal to how much she treasured him. Her days were peaceful enough, when she was occupied; however, her nights and idle moments were fraught with worry. Before, even if she went to bed early, mornings were difficult for her. Now her mornings were difficult not only due to her inherent nature, but from exhaustion. Sleep didn’t seem to satisfy the way it used to.

Even so, there he was, standing in the full light of the sun. The image seemed at once peaceful and silent and yet dynamic. She wanted to have the same kind of peace in her own heart. That was why his quiet happiness irritated her in a way she was silently ashamed of. Within her chest turmoil made itself a home with recurring nightmares and violent fears. That boy probably had nothing to worry about besides what place he felt like eating at, and where to nap in the sun’s diminishing light when it started to fall over the horizon. Of course he didn’t know or care how she felt. He was a stranger, and knew nothing of her troubles. Yet it bothered her.

What a fool then, she was, in his eyes. If he could see through her, he’d understand what she was feeling. Confusing, nebulous emotions somewhere between relief, anger, sadness, fear, and uncertainty; often many at once, and rarely only a single feeling, rose up within her at any time.

Something was unforgivable about the way he relaxed in front of her. But it became worse when the boy turned towards her. Feeling the invisible push of eyes upon him, the gardener, or student, looked directly at Takara with a complete lack of shame or bashfulness, and smiled more widely. The expression narrowed his eyes and filled his face with warmth, but it made her feel terrible. Happy people didn’t realize the damage they inflicted on those who were mourning.

“It’s not fair…”

“…”
Takara didn’t realize it, but her face was slowly shifting into an angry frown

“Don’t smile so carelessly like that at me… I don’t even know you…”

He just kept smiling, with that face that mirrored the sun. Free. Careless. Happy. Takara’s fists clenched. Traces of water welled up in the corner of her shaking eyes as she recalled a person who couldn’t ever smile calmly like that anymore. “He” should have been able to smile like that in the end and be proud of what he’d done, because he was a hero to her. But he’d been robbed even of that, and left her behind. Was he as unsatisfied with the end to their partnership as she was? Did he even truly exist anymore?

“Don’t… You’re not going to let this bother you, right? Something this petty… aren’t you strong? Like your mother and father? You’ve accomplished a lot, haven’t you?! What is there to be upset about?”

But it already had, and she was broken free yet again by her friend’s voice.

“Takara, what’s wrong?”

The young man silently looked away, back to his watering. He took up his long instrument and walked off to another part of the plaza, dragging the green hose like a tamed snake behind him.

“Haeh?.. That guy is kinda…”

Takara, broken free of her reverie, turned to Momoko, who was turning a shade of pink like her namesake. She hadn’t yet looked away from the young man, even as his broad back faced her and the calm smile retreated from Takara’s view. The taller girl's hand still jogged her cheek even as she remained rivited to his image. Suddenly she turned on her taller friend, clasping both fists balled up before her chest with an almost comical sorrowful look.

“Taka, you were watching him weren’t you?”

“I was *not* watching him!”

She felt her face getting hot, and a tinge of embarrassed anger began to enter her voice. Takara spoke loudly, unthinking of whether the gardener could hear her or not.

“He’s a cute one, isn’t he~?” Momoko grinned with a smile wide like a crescent moon. She rarely made a face like that unless she got to eat some sweets.


Averting her eyes, she hadn’t meant to seem embarrassed, but her body language mistranslated her mixed feelings on the outside. She crossed her arms and frowned disapprovingly.

“You know I don’t need to answer that! Come on already. We need to hurry to class. *Some* part of the lecture should be left for us to listen to.”

All of that was too much. To allow something as simple as somebody else’s happiness to disrupt her own mood was terrible, so Takara did her best to put it out of her mind. It wouldn’t do for her to go on that day feeling disconsolate. She had finally achieved a kind of freedom of her own, though she probably would have been content to live amongst her parents longer if she could help it. No matter what had happened in the past, she’d taken hold of the present and her future, so she had no choice but to make it into something happier. Then maybe she too would be able to find peace like that young man. Her long ponytail flowed behind her in the wind like a free-flowing black ribbon as she turned unexpectedly from Momoko and began hurrying in her original direction.

They hurried on, leaving the gardener to give one last sunny grin over his shoulder to their fleeing images. He probably didn’t think anything of it, other than they were “rather cute.” All he needed to worry about was making as much money as possible until the day he could try again. Someday he’d join them.

[Kieran]

Ah, how I've missed this . . . And now it'll be continued! Yay!

[MrTags]

Throws a greatful party with the Dwaggies!

Here Here Cascade! Heeya Heeya Cascade!

Dwaggies have twuble with R's.

[Cascade]

Her day was uneventful. Although rigorous, the school year had just begun, and as freshman, Takara could afford to relax somewhat. She hadn’t yet begun to focus on her intended major in medicine, opting to take more conventional academic classes to acclimate herself to the higher standards of college. Surprisingly, the difficulty of work and comprehensibility of the lectures were hardly an upgrade from HS. Unlike earlier that morning, the coast seemed clear to slack off and dream the rest of her class away. After her sudden unwarranted pulse of negative feeling that earlier, which left lingering traces of regret in its wake, she couldn’t concentrate even if she wanted to.

The professor continued to speak but her words melted into meaningless, distant noise as Takara’s eyes batted. The large monitor before her terraced classroom seating melted into squares and rectangles of washed out colors. Heavy eyelids blinked once, then twice in quick succession, but they were heavier after each time. Students around her seemed to move further and further away, even Momoko; though they stayed seated, the faint impression of their closeness dissipated as she became more distant from the waking world. It was like the long desk she leaned on stretched itself like taffy as the room expanded, leaving Takara with infinite space and no interruptions to disturb her.

Takara’s father had been born to a family of assassins. He evaded his fate as a natural born killer, ironically, by his adoption into the family who slaughtered his kin, but escape was only temporary. A dangerous force took root within him that Takara hadn’t understood when it had been explained a long time ago, but his identity was in danger of being taken from him. When the “killer” persona awakened within her too, during those days of violence in high school, she had realized what Shiki struggled with for years.

But fortunately for him, he found Ciel. It seemed they were two people destined for a life of violence. When the Grail War started and Takara became involved with Avenger, it seemed as though they would never be truly free. However, it seemed even the darkest storm clouds would part eventually.

And now Shiki was free to be a simple painter; so much a living, thriving person that he created his own identity and lived more strongly through his daughter, who possessed a health and vigor that enlivened even his weak shell. Ciel had come to understand the joy of teaching others and was able to do more than simply survive or endure, but finally live. She had even (mostly) reconciled her long feud with the blonde-haired True Ancestor princess. When Takara thought about her mother and father’s state since she had been born, and now, when they had reluctantly granted her the freedom to leave them and go to college far from Fuyuki, she understood.

For one important loss, there were many gains. New life, and a brighter future evoked a certain kind of warmth in her chest. It was faint and Takara couldn’t always feel it, but it was definitely there. Through the night she faced dreams of undead Servants that had ceased to exist, of a mother used as the vessel for an unholy “holy” ritual, of a young man who fashioned himself as an avenger, and became a victim of another’s revenge in turn, and of a fond memory, ragged, sometimes confident, sometimes regretful, moving into the shadows of the past. Those unsightly galleries that confronted her would only last as long as the hours she slept. Takara felt confident she had the strength to endure, if only doubting occasionally how long it would last.

More than anyone, save her own father, she understood the cursory nature of all things. So she knew that the feeling of lack left behind by her high school War would someday dull and fade.

The professor gestured wildly at the projector, clearly trying to energize her class. It was effective, but Takara had long since departed. Remembering those truths brought the faintest smile to her lips.

It was then that she thought of the gardener she’d met earlier that morning.

“If I see him again, I’ll probably get angry just like I did last time. The sight of his face… frustrated me. But it wasn’t something he could help. I’m the one entirely at fault.”

As she ruminated over her impetuous feelings, she came to the convenient conclusion. He couldn’t help that he had appeared at the wrong place and the wrong time, in the same way that she couldn’t help feeling unhappy seeing him. She didn’t want to think she could hate someone for a reason so irrational. If he was someone who just inherently repelled her, she could always avoid him in the future, but if he was a good natured, undeserving person, she couldn’t go without “reconciling” herself with him, like some non-existent feud had occurred. It was the natural order of her emotions and mindset, especially after the war; she was the kind of person who wanted to resolve situations by her own hand. Additionally, she was just sensitive enough to feel bad even if she only thought unwarranted, negative things, not say them aloud.

But it was strange. Normally she wouldn’t be drawn to any person in particular, but the feeling of inherent dislike for the boy seemed almost familiar.

“…It couldn’t be.”

It couldn’t. She’d suppressed the part of her. The family name she’d taken upon herself was Aozaki. There was no need for the instincts of a sublime killer inside her mind anymore. So it wasn’t a Nanaya-driven killing impulse. Takara dashed the thought from her head as if even considering it for a moment would open a gateway to someplace left far behind. She had become a normal college student who got up late and attended lessons, sampled the local eateries and suffered the occasional nightmare. That heritage might have preserved her life but it would be nothing but a barrier to her happiness.

Over the days after the war, the impulse came back in progressively more faint relapses. The voice of her murderous blood grew more and more faint with each passing week, but it kept coming back, as if to remind her it was there. Takara had an innate understanding of self-defense and martial combat, so even without the “other Takara,” she believed she was ready to defend herself without needing to choose the fatal option.

That’s why she’d settled upon medical education. She didn’t have any particular desire to become a doctor, or a nurse. There were no powerful aspirations regarding her future career. It was just that Takara felt preserving life was more important to her than taking it. Somehow, she wanted to reaffirm that sentiment, strengthen it. If she found happiness with a man later in life and chose to marry him, the skills she learned studying medicine wouldn’t go to waste. As a responsible daughter, she would be able to better tend to her father who, if everything went, well would be living a peaceful septuagenarian life. That projection for the future assumed all her dreams were fulfilled, but she had earned, Takara felt, a right to hope for the best possible future. Nanaya was just the family that made Shiki Nanaya’s existence possible, and the connection between him and his daughter and their dead ancestors had long since been severed.

“My father is more of an Aozaki than anything else, just like my mother… Just like me.”

It was a shame, for at least at that moment she had already forgotten the basic rule of unusual people who lived in secrecy amongst normal humans. “Those with supernatural powers tend to attract the supernatural.”



She’d finally managed to close her eyes. Takara was well on her way to becoming an irresponsible student; she’d have to correct that in the remainder of the month. It certainly wasn’t far from how

“Hey~! We’re free now, Takara.”

Takara blinked groggily.

“… Huh? Didn’t the lecture just start?” She intoned, in a voice that was half yawn.

Momoko circled around her seated friend energetically to the side facing the door to the lecture hall.

“Takara, you sleepy-head. If you’re going to rest, why not go back to the dorm?” She winked and smiled. “I’ll go with you. Maybe we should stop at the bakery first though…”

Takara sighed at the near-drooling look of hunger on the girl’s face. “Well, if you want to stuff yourself full of cake again, that’s wonderful, but please don’t eat it every time you walk home from class. Don’t you have to worry about your spending money?”

Momoko waved it off, but a strange thing happened. Her face became deadly serious and her usually absent-minded tone became like that of a finicky perfectionist.

“Naw, not at all~! I carefully rationed out all my money for this month. As long as I eat at the dormitory or cook my own food, I should be within my budget for August through September. If I jog every weekend, I won’t have to worry about gaining weight either~.”

Takara blinked at her sudden change in persona.

“Wow, when it comes to sweets, Momoko is really serious about time and money management… I didn’t know she had it in her…”

Quickly returning to the previous tired look, she rest her chin on her arm, looking lazily upwards through tired, half closed eyelids. “I hope you included brushing your teeth constantly in that schedule of yours. And other things, like, you know… classes.”

Momoko giggled jovially, but it was altogether different than her normal laugh. “Huhu, but you can’t say much about classes now, can you? Sleeping through lectures and all…”

“Be quiet.” Takara muttered a bit sadly as she rose from her chair, taking her time.

“Don’t hate me~. Now come on, let’s go back, okay?”

It seemed every day she was being dragged about by that energetic girl who never experienced a single drowsy moment. At a more comfortable pace than that morning, the two exchanged fun and meaningless talk all the way out of Jin-Sei’s large, cube-shaped northern lecture and assembly building.


They had to switch buildings for the mid-day lectures, but overall Takara and Momoko hadn’t strayed too far from the sparse grouping of campus buildings at the top of the northern hilly area of town. Thus, they would be taking the same route back as they had that morning, through the plaza, towards downtown. Of course, the journey would tax the two of them much less. No need to run full speed up a steep incline, nor accusatory looks from the professor waiting to greet them back at their dormitory.

From the wide street, through a mess of electric power lines, Takara could see the many streetlights awaken to the 5:00 hour, like a trail of circular floating lanterns suspended amongst a sea of square ones. The sky had painted itself in brilliant, pastel tones of fuchsia and orange, clouds stretching across the sky like heavenly banners in the midst of unfurling unfathomable lengths of soft cotton. A contrail traversed those clouds and brought immediately to mind laundry fluttering in the wind on a clothesline. In the light evening wind, Takara felt her heart stop for a moment as she walked beside Momoko, her friend reciting an exhausting list.

“…Walnut Potica, Strawberry Short Cake, Tiramisu…”

Although beautiful, it made Takara experience the first tinge of homesickness she’d felt since leaving Fuyuki. She didn’t want to return per se. It was more of a desire to bring her home to where she was: She wanted to bring father and mother with her. Takara wanted to share the sky’s scenery, something that Shiki would have been very interested in painting himself had he seen it. If they were there, they could watch over her and make certain she got to classes on time, and always had something to eat… It wouldn’t do for them to pamper her any longer, but Takara couldn’t help but imagine. She barely realized it seemed as if all the negative emotions that had been in her heart had blown away, past the Mediterranean imitation buildings and into the invisible, painted air above them.

Maybe it was a beauty that covered normally unseen things with colors the eye could perceive. It had just been that the whole time, even with her “gift,” there were things even Takara couldn’t see, until the sunset came and the finished masterpiece unveiled itself before her. The right conditions converged upon the scenery like an alignment of celestial bodies, a one-in-a-million moment. Something was special about this day.

“Ah…”

Before she knew it, she had arrived at the plaza again with Momoko. And she hadn’t even expected it, but there he was. Perhaps Momoko didn’t see him, but the boy gardener had made a second appearance. This time, he was sitting facing away from them on the edge of the fountain in the square’s center, watching the same thing Takara had been, completely mesmerized. In the evening shadows he seemed to meld into the scenery naturally, and the statuesque looks he’d shown earlier that day were even more pronounced now that he was deathly still.

Momoko gave Takara an apologetic look.

“Sorry Takara… I realized that there are a lot of things I need to try, and so it might be boring for you. I’ll go on ahead and bring some back to the dorm, so don’t fall asleep before I’m back at the room again, got it?”

The fierce eyes seemed to suggest she had felt the transmission of a critical assignment seep through her optimism-wrapped skull. It was a mission she absolutely had to accomplish. Momoko was a callous, highly trained warrior who’d set aside even her friend to achieve her objective!

Takara seemed happier, but why did she choose to leave at that moment? She could have told her she was planning on eating alone earlier on their way down.

“Haha, no, it’s really all right Momoko. I’ll see you later tonight. For now I think I’ll… walk around a bit.”

Momoko blinked. She didn’t know what transpired in her friend’s head, but it made her feel better to see Takara smile so openly, and it felt right to leave her to herself at that moment.

“All right. Stay on the street we walked on, okay? Don’t get lost~.”

“You’re talking about me, not yourself, right Momoko?”

As the two parted, they waved to each other over a few temporary goodbyes, and Takara’s attention once again shifted to the young man on the fountain’s edge.

In the evening light, the carvings on the side of the fountain’s concentric circles were largely obscured by shadow. Pictures of people in a festival carried on throughout the night even with no sun to guide their procession; it was another Italian or Spanish inspired piece.

The expression he wore was exactly the same as earlier that morning. Same simple smile, same relaxed posture, same atmosphere of dynamism. But this time, he knew she was there from the very beginning.



Takara felt herself timidly approaching him, step by step. She’d shot him a look anyone would have known was hostile. What would she say? Did he pick up on her emotions at that moment? Probably all of them were hers alone, but the displacement of that feeling did wonders for her sense of sympathy; or perhaps sympathy and imprinting one’s own feelings on a similar-looking thing were the same.

As she inched across the plaza, more of his face came into view. Suddenly, he turned, and the calm smile broke into one wider and more boisterous. Takara almost jumped in her place when the young man opened his mouth to speak, rising from his spot in a way that almost made him look startled.

“So, you finally came back! What took you so long?”

His voice was abrupt, loud and crude. The manner in which he strung words together dragged in such a way that Takara couldn’t initially tell where he was from. But something about him screamed “country.” If she was landed nobility from a small city, this boy was a peasant from the rice paddies.

“E-Eh?!”

Takara blinked, taken aback; she hardly could resist the instinct to double take. The young man’s nebulous smile and surrounding cloud of calm were almost entirely gone. In its place was… another Momoko!?

No, he was different. His excitement was strange, as if he’d already met her and befriended her long ago. But she knew she’d never met this boy before. So then…

Unlike Takara’s self-conscious inching forward, the boy walked towards her with pure confidence, or arrogance, and swaggered over with terrible posture and long steps that seemed like they could circumnavigate the globe. As he approached, she felt the unsightly emotions return, but far from subtle, they were a strong impulse of irritation directed at the careless man’s sudden startling of her.

“Hahaha! I’ve been waiting. I was starting to think you’d never come back.”

His toothy grin shined even in the dim orange light as the breeze dived through and out of his fluttering, loose-fitting tank top. With a few feet between them, their figures were silhouettes in the blazing sunset.

Takara stepped back defensively. She clutched her hands, balled up, and her book bag to her chest. Who did he think he was, acting so familiar all of a sudden? It wasn’t as if he knew her! His boisterous laughter hurt her ears and made her want to quiet him down quickly. All of her instincts of discomfort with boys and shyness put her into a state of fight or flight.

“…What are you talking about? I’m sorry, but I don’t remember you, or your name.”

The young man’s smile disappeared, and he cast her an expression of exaggerated disappointment. He was close enough now that the difference in their height was brought out in the most spectacular of ways. Takara was always confident in how tall she was, though she wished she had been shorter for a long time, but this boy made her look like a diminutive Japanese doll. He bent at the waist a bit, bowing forward to better match her height, hands on hips.

“Tch, you don’t? That’s terrible. I thought we were just a biiit closer than that! And after all we’ve been through together, you still can’t recall even my name?”

He raised his gaze to the sky above and sighed in a façade of dejection.

“You were right, Gramps! We’re this close…”

Kira folded his hands together in a gesture that could only symbolize physical intimacy.

“…But she doesn’t even remember my name?! Women are so cruel! What am I going to do?” The clasped hands shifted together into feigned prayer. “Please, give me guidance to help me resist these earthly desires!”

“W-w-what?”

A startled Takara fumbled with her hands, dropping her book bag and stepping back even further. She had a flushed, angry face that seemed to heat up the air between them to a boil.

“Who are you? Just what are you trying to insinuate?”

Much of the beautiful panorama of the sky had been blocked by his laughing, smiling face and broad shoulders. His narrow eyes regained just a bit of that mysteriousness when he spoke again with hands resting casually on his hips. He turned a bit and gave her a slanted, sidelong glance.

“I’m Kaede Kira. It’s a pretty terrible name, I think. So just call me Kira. No –kun, no –san, definitely no –chan. Maybe –dono is okay. But we can do away with the formalities, right?”

He rose to his full height again and pressed one open palm to his wide chest.

“Haha, but man, I thought it would be fun to tease you a little! Now I just feel guilty. Sorry. I know you’re a stranger to me, but we met this morning, and how can I say it… had a moment? You know~, when our eyes met and all.”

“’Tease me a little?’ ‘When our eyes met?’”

Takara hesitantly answered back, as if she was unsure of when his pressuring voice would box her rancorously around her ears again. There was definitely a hint of cool fury at the presumptuous man-child’s flippant attitude and insistence on abruptly and baselessly adopting a level of formality normally reserved for the most intimate of friends, and lovers… Takara thanked whatever God existed in the world that Momoko hadn’t been around to hear even his booming voice, but feared such prayers would be premature.

“Yup. You got that right, Takara.”

Just as he said, Kira omitted the honorific, “tomatofying” her even more. Of course, he insisted on a rakish wink right at that moment that made her mind combust. Tremors traveled up and down Takara’s irate form.

“Hii!”

A startled, uncharacteristically high-pitched squeak broke free from her throat, as Takara fumed with scarlet shame and anger. This man was deliberately trying to provoke an unfortunate misunderstanding amongst all those who might have been watching the scene unnoticed.

“I never agreed to that!!! Listen to me-”

Disregarding her words entirely, the boy named Kira made a silly gesture, “saluting” Takara with two fingers. He then brought his hand down, extending it to her in a gesture that she almost didn’t immediately recognize, but quickly drew it back.

“Anyways, it’s nice to meet ya. Oops, wait. This is the city so…”

He dipped his head forcefully down, almost striking Takara squarely upon her own cranium like a falling hammer. She barely avoided having to stumble backwards to prevent a mutual headache.

“PLEASED-TO-MAKE-YOUR-ACCQUAINTANCE.” He robotically croaked out.
(KON BAN WA. O RE WA KA E DE KI RA. DO ZO YO RO SHI KU.)

The way he said it awkwardly didn’t make it obvious as to whether Kira thought people in cities talked that way for real, or he was simply parodying them. His presence was positively exhausting, like a huge dynamo of power that simply drained everything in its vicinity to spark with the force of a thousand superchargers.

Takara was incensed. At first his careless attitude had set her off in an irrational way that made her feel guilty. Now all that guilt had been squashed in a pile of offended vexation. He looked like an urban gangster, or a delinquent, but his attitude was carefree, almost childish, and exceedingly crass. Everything about him was a rough edge that scraped Takara abrasively. She had more than enough legitimate reasons to dislike him in only the first couple of words the two had exchanged together. It was time to take control of the conversation, if one could even call it anything but being talked at, rather than with.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance… I am Aozaki Takara.”

Takara cautiously bowed, visibly lower and less respectfully than she was used to doing, but still with a classical level of grace that provoked an amused, ostensibly impressed, gasp from Kira. Paying attention to decorum in the presence of that man clearly had no effect on him other than putting him in a humorous mood.

“But more importantly, I don’t understand at all why you’d come up to me all of a sudden, teasing me and asking that we be on a… first name basis… First of all, I don’t know you that well. W-we’ve only met this morning, and…”

Kira watched, grinning wildly the whole time; his expression was distracting her and making it hard to speak clearly and without anger. Takara unleashed a few pent up words of her own.

“Y-you’re incredibly rude! And on top of that, presumptuous! There are limits to this kind of ‘friendliness.’ Certain mores have to be followed in order for… y-you and I to talk that… personally. And moreover, it’s discourteous to talk about someone in the third person while they’re present! You ran right over what I said without any regards for my feelings…”

Just then, she felt a chill. Hadn’t that been her mother’s scolding voice?

“After all, we’re total strangers. Stop acting overly familiar with me…”

Apparently she’d turned up the volume more than she’d immediately realized, for Kira backed off a step, like some lion who mistook Takara for a bigger creature just because she had flared up and raised her voice. His posture became visibly more “cautious” and his impossible delight disappeared. Maybe he’d come to regard her as a true threat.

“Hey!” He barked, bearing his lower teeth with the force of his exclamation.

“Don’t act like I ‘don’t know you’; you stared at me weirdly this morning for almost two full minutes! I think I have a right to talk with you if I want, right? Or are you a pervert, or some kind of fujoshi? If you wanted to draw me in your dirty comics, the answer is no!”

He widened his eyes and for a moment his voice rose a bit in pitch as if cracking. It seemed like he was quite afraid of that last possibility.

“What did you say? Of all the ridiculous… Y-you…”

Takara looked furiously about as her mind sifted hurriedly through any suitable insult she could sling at him.

“… You… You jerk! I’ve never met someone so insulting in my life!”

What *Japanese* man would at one moment insinuate an indecent relationship and then at the next moment verbally attack a girl so bluntly without any warning whatsoever?

“You’re the one who gave me that irritating smile, so don’t act like you’re completely free of guilt!”

“You got a problem with me smiling? Huh!?”

“Yeah, and it’s my business! What are you butting in for?”

“’Butting in?’ Shit, you couldn’t ask for a more friendly guy! If you think I won’t hit a girl, then…” He trailed off. Maybe he was about to say “Then you’re right! But I’ll still yell at you!”

Takara almost smiled. It was a rather frightening expression that made Kira hesitate for a minute. “You think I won’t hit you back?” She felt the stored force of a punch building up behind her tightening fist. That she was able to hold back enough to not lay him out was an amazing sign of her mental control.

“No. I’ve got to think calmly. I’ll just walk away. It’s not ladylike to fist fight even if he deserves it.”

Takara whipped around in a tight circle and prepared to stomp off. But before she went, she gave him one last parting shot. She sucked in a deep gulp of air, like a child about to threaten to hold her breath. Takara balled up her hands in anger and pushed them towards the ground, raising her shoulders in agitation.

“Of all the people I’ve met in this city so far, you’re without question the worst, you… Idiot! Delinquent! Jerk!... Gorilla!” Takara exploded in a spectacular geyser of immature rage. Her voice echoed around the plaza and its surrounding buildings.

“G-Gorilla!? Am I all of those things or do I have to pick and choose? Make up your mind!”

Forcing himself to calm down, in a relative sense, Kira raised an eyebrow as he crossed his long arms before his chest in anger.

“I was trying to cheer you up. After all, you’re so… damn… gloomy looking. Since you had to go and walk in my way, what else was there for me to do?”

Takara blinked, her upcoming barrage of verbal barbs stalled by his words. Certainly, she’d seemed far off and unenergetic that morning, but Kira had no reason to get involved. He hadn’t even looked at her until he noticed their stares.

“Did I really seem that upset to even this stranger?”

She drew her half-closed right hand to her chest, and the angry blush in her face subsided, cooling to reveal the same worried look she’d worn before their altercation. Takara glanced down at her hand. She hadn’t realized it, but it had been trembling for a long time. It even felt slightly numb.

“I must have made Momoko feel so afraid for me. Drifting out of the conversation and looking dark… I’m so sorry…”

Kira closed one eye and watched he through the other, continuing more calmly, but still visibly agitated. “What? Do I need a reason too?”

“… I… looked depressed?”

What an obvious question. Takara hadn’t realized it even when Momoko called her name so many times because she had been in her own world. But she became aware that her dreamlike state when reminiscing about the war, or becoming lost in her negative memories, provided her friend with inordinate supplies of worry.

“…How did you know?” She said, more seriously and with far less vulnerability than that brief lapse in her defenses.

Shocked by her sudden mood swing and apparently still itching for a fight, the guarded boy scratched his head uncomfortably and looked away.

“Ah, yeah… you did look pretty upset. Well…” He held his chin, still watching something far off rather than her concerned face. “It wasn’t like I saw anything that made me feel that way. I just sort of… well, where I come from, it’s kind of natural to help others out when you think they’re sad. If you can’t do anything else just act as a footstool for them a little while… to make them feel ‘big’ again.”

“’Make them feel… big.’”

He smiled, nearly winking with both eyes, and leaned in towards her again cheerfully. “How was it? You felt strong for a moment there, huh? Then I think I was successful.”

Was that all it had been all along?

For what seemed like hours, the two of them sat on the edge of the fountain, saying little. The bright inferno of the sky above slowly faded into a faint glow like hot embers lay beyond the sea and the horizon. They both watched the last remnants of the sun retire for that day, before its pale brother relieved it of its duties.

It was no surprise that Kira was the first to break their silence once more.

“Takara…” Remembering her outburst earlier, and catching an angry glare from the girl, he quickly added a “-chan” to the end.

Not horrible, but it still was more than irritating enough. Something about that boy was just annoying to her, and she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“Could you shake hands with me for a sec?”

He offered his wide palm again to her, as he had attempted to earlier.

Takara shifted her gaze through skeptical eyes towards him, tucking her folded arms closer together, visibly appearing to refuse. But it was because the air had grown chilly.

Kira sighed. “I’m not trying to get ‘intimate’ with you or anything.”

Apparently that hadn’t been Takara’s thought, as she grew even more distant and scooted a bit away on the stone surface. Her blue eyes regarded the man sitting next to her as an enemy.

“Hey, I just want to check something. Give me your hand already!” Kira grumbled, getting more frustrated.

With some hesitation, Takara did extend one open hand to him, but he took hold of it suddenly and strongly, like a slap, enough to make her cry out with surprise. She stared daggers into Kira, but he was seemingly focused on their joining grip.

The first thing Takara noticed was his incredible warmth. Her father’s hand had been often chilly, or only barely heated, reminding her of how faint his life was. Her mother’s hands were warm, but never remarkably so. But Kira’s hand was so hot it nearly burnt her. Yet it felt natural somehow. The fiery nature of his temper and powerful energy in his gestures and words would have only been suited by a strong force of life. She could feel his pulse just behind the callused skin. His palm was rough, like hers, and his grip was tight, but just barely loose enough that it didn’t hurt. It was a somewhat unattractive quality that she’d wanted to hide for a long time. A boy who held her hand would certainly realize she had tomboy hobbies like kendo. Takara expected someone as blunt as Kira to immediately point this out to her, but his following words were totally unexpected.

There was a moment of silence as their clasped hands bridged the gap between them. Takara shifted her fingers uncomfortably, but still he held on.

"...Please let go."

"Ah, yeah." He muttered, half consciously. The sound was that of a person having only just awoken from a dream. Even though his words affirmed her, Kira still didn't set her free.

“You didn’t eat dinner huh? It’s a pretty big slice of my paycheck, but I’ll treat you.”

Takara drew her hand back from his suddenly, growing pink around the cheeks.

“N-no, I’m really fine! I’m sorry for getting angry at you before… you don’t have to apologize in that way.” Although she seemed to be apologizing herself, the tone of voice still contained traces of defiance, like she didn’t want to be a party to his charity.

“Then, in that case, you can pay.” Kira chuckled and turned back to her, rising from his spot. “Come on, let’s go. You feel like you’re lacking a bit in energy, so I figured you hadn’t had any food in a while.”

He was right after all. Takara had avoided lunch, but it was partially his fault.

She smiled with an edge of sarcasm.
“You’ve got to be kidding. I’m not going with you.”

“No way!”

Rising from her spot, she retrieved her book bag and brushed her hair over her shoulder.

“It was nice meeting you, Kira, but I have to be going home.”

There was a sudden silence. She could feel his eyes upon her, boring through her; that shaded, half calm, half hungry pair of eyes. It seemed their conversation had ended there and then, so the first-year college student turned her back on the rude gardener and began to walk home.

As she began to exit the plaza, she heard the rushing of water and a familiar sound of falling droplets spreading themselves across leaves and soil.

“Take care on your way home, Takara. See you some other time.”

"... You're a strange guy. I'll be fine."

She let out a quiet “Hmph!” when she was far enough away from the sound.

“If all things go well, there won’t be a next time.”



The walk back was far enough that at a leisurely pace, it would take her another hour to arrive. Checking her rather unadorned cell phone, the dim blue light informed her that she had spent an hour fighting with Kira and sitting next to him, watching the sunset. She still had an hour before she reached her home. Somehow, the entire event hadn’t seemed totally repulsive, and the negative emotion that had settled in her chest was largely gone. She still found him irritating beyond belief, but she didn’t loathe him and his smile the same way she had that morning.

Takara hated to admit it, but that cathartic, infantile series of insults and angry posturing had its therapeutic effects. Kira had been entirely successful in his professed objective of making her feel stronger, at least for the moment. It almost felt as if Momoko had arranged for her to meet that strange rival at the plaza as an arena where she could regain her lost fire, just as planned. It didn’t take long for Takara to write that possibility off as unlikely however.

She reached the downtown shop row, remembering that this was the area Momoko had advised her to walk through on her way home. Although most stores remained open even relatively late, some were darkening, and she could see employees wiping down the windows and front doors to an invisible level of clean. The entire area was a wonderful sight for a girl interested in shopping, and although not impressing Takara, with her simple tastes, as much as most, she could still appreciate that it was clean and that the small groups of people, mostly older men and women, appeared to have money and feel comfortable walking around from store to store.

Passing by the front of a glass door, a French-inspired sweet shop’s sign rose up in her view. The place Momoko mentioned was already closed at 7:00. Staring into the glass, she could see the darkened interior of the cozy little place, and for a moment wished she could taste the chocolate items amongst the selection there. She’d missed out. But it was embarrassing for a proper girl to eat so much chocolate, even with Momoko to compare with in public. Takara decided to wait for a time when the store wasn’t crowded, as it was likely not before closing, in the future when she could indulge her tastes freely.

Her eyes moved to the glass display case. Several cakes, short and stubby cylinders, and objects covered in white paper or cloth to protect them in the display. She had no doubt some of them were just plastic mockups, but they still looked incredibly delicious. Takara’s stomach rumbled in agreement.

“…Maybe I should have taken him up on his offer after all… free meals are hard to come by.” She muttered under her breath.

It was then that she saw an unusual shape amongst the cakes and pastries. It was wide, like a hat, and very faint, but dark, almost blue. The base was narrower by a small but noticeable margin, and Takara wondered how it retained its shape. She couldn’t imagine any sort of sweet bread or cake with that kind of food coloring being very tasty, but perhaps it was simply her hunger that made her wish she could eat even one slice. However, she noticed the edge of the shape overlapped both the cake closer to her, and the one further behind it. That was certainly odd. Takara looked further down.

It had not been inside the shop at all, and was definitely not edible. What she had been looking at was the strange, wide hat of a man in the reflection of the glass. The thought that she’d mistaken a hat of all things for a cake, or a hat-like cake, was almost comical, until she considered where he was looking.

The man, wearing strange and unfamiliar robes, was watching her from across the street. She could not see his face, for it was obscured by shadow, but he was definitely watching her, and waiting.

[Cascade]

There was no question as to whom the mysterious man was watching. Or rather, there was no one else near enough to Takara to watch. He stood perfectly still; through the murky reflection she could not make out the details of his face from under the shadows and the wide hat, but his manner of dress was conspicuous. Why hadn’t the other shoppers walking ignorantly by noticed him, or at least given him a suspicious glance?

Her first instinct was to move away quickly and attempt to lose him down the street, amongst the store crowds. Takara drew a deep gulp of air to sedate her active nerves.

“No. Maybe he hasn’t realized I’ve noticed him yet.”

Considering her life up until that point, Takara was disturbed to realize she had almost considered the idea of the man being a stalker or mugger quaint. If he had been nothing but a pervert or just some a thug, she wouldn’t have been out of place calling for help like a normal girl. She wouldn’t have to use the phantom training she’d tried so hard to bury after the shattering of her normal school life.

But, she knew it had been naïve to think that she’d ever fully escape. Takara knew well enough that the watcher was not a normal human, not something that could be reasoned with or frightened off. Something about his stillness cut a deep gorge between humanity and the shape of a human being.

“…I have to find someplace far away from these people.”

Takara began to slowly walk away from the storefront, continuing to watch the reflection as if still entranced by the sight of the delicious sweets. The robed man didn’t respond initially. There was a fleeting, cooling flash of relief within her as he continued to face immobile in the direction of the shop.

That feeling passed as the figure began to take short, shuffling steps in the same direction as Takara. It was a sickening sight. Before he had been still as brackish water, but with every step he seemed to shudder uncomfortably, as if too stiff to move without considerable effort. Yet his steps had no impression of weight, as if he was sliding along the sidewalk with no resistance. Shadowing her from across the street, totally unnoticed and unsuspected by all around him, the figure began his pursuit.

Takara maintained her calm, but the reflective storefronts soon disappeared, replaced by scenery of lit interiors and the faces of smiling customers, ignorant of the interloper stalking so near them. The silhouette of Takara’s pursuer disappeared in the light as she felt her stomach knot up and her shoulders tense. Eyes darted about for some manner of mirror to watch behind her, but she knew she couldn’t turn her head to stare back at him.
No matter what, she had to keep walking. Even if the pressure of his presence crushed her, or she could feel his breath wash the back of her neck in hot air, she had to keep walking.

“I’m… being hunted. So then-”

Turning her head just enough to inconspicuously gaze in the direction of shops on the other side of the street, Takara’s blue eye peered out from behind the curtain of wispy chestnut hair, back towards the spot on the other side of the street where he’d been following earlier.

He wasn’t there. There was nothing but black ties and casual dresses milling about, walking home. Even those were slowly becoming rarities. Soon it would be a long walk with just the two of them to keep each other company.

Takara knew he hadn’t given up yet. By that time, he’d followed her three blocks already. But there was only one other place he could be.

“Don’t turn around.”

Takara continued to move stiffly onward as directly behind her, the robed figure drew closer, patient as the flow of time, unfaltering as her own shadow.

“Don’t show fear.”

As she continued the walk towards her apartment, Takara dove frantically into the disordered files of her mind. If he was only a typical criminal with a flair for dramatic dress, she would have little to worry about, but at the same time, it would be impossible to simply use her power. But in her heart she knew that he was far from ordinary. If that was the case, then he was stalking her for reasons related to the “other world” she had been born into. It was not her identity as a college student by the name of Takara Aozaki that was being stalked, but the mirror image of that girl that walked alongside her in a separate realm of shadows, magi and undying monsters.

“My chance for experiencing a normal life… It didn’t last that long did it?”

It was almost enough to make her cry, or laugh bitterly. Perhaps her hopes had been too strong. Within the realm of day, Takara was unremarkable, even underwhelming, but in realm of night, she had been a “genius” even from birth. What did he track her for? Was it for the magic potential her mother had “gifted” her with? Or was it her Death Perception? It was brutally convenient to write it off as pure misfortune, but life was not so merciful, and disappointment in its verdict was pointless. Only the present mattered, and all of it portents. That sick feeling in the pit of her stomach was all too familiar.

Whatever the reason, she couldn’t return to the dorm. If a threat was roaming the streets, Takara would face it alone. After the Sixth War, she didn’t feel so weak as to be afraid of one enemy. Or perhaps she simply wanted to find a secluded arena where the two of them could kill each other, without interferences. Takara weighed that thought as the enigmatic follower shuffled ever closer.



Eight blocks, nine blocks, ten blocks: Takara continued the silent game of Follow the Leader. The languid chase continued for hours, as she’d correctly deducted that as long as she stayed “unaware” of his presence, he wouldn’t attack. Somehow other pedestrians did not notice the hat-man; it was too much of a threat to leave the main street, or hide someplace else, but impossible to fight completely in public as well. So long as she kept calm and moved away from him, he couldn’t touch her. Perhaps whatever charm or spell kept him unnoticed would be dispelled if he did.

She walked so far her heels began to hurt, and the number of blocks she’d traveled had faded from her mind, but still she continued, and slowly, his presence was fading away. Never turning back, no evidence of it presented itself to her, but at the same time, she was certain he continued the hunt, seizing her within cold eyes, imprisoning her. The number of pedestrians slowly thinned, and young people staying out late at night began to gradually take dominance over the street. Takara slowly, almost unconsciously, had been moving away from the popular shopping district into the club and entertainment district she knew little about. The turn she would have normally taken back to the dorm was far behind her. Momoko was safe for certain, at least from him, for now.

Bright street lamps and well-lit shops were gradually replaced by moody, curtained facades and windowless doors marked with small neon lights. Shapes and patterns played in the night like performing, glowing eels that folded in on each other and themselves in a humming, electric mime act. Yet her sidewalk grew lonelier still, as the duller yellow squares of light lining the buildings higher up began to flicker out.

It was then that she could hear it.

The shuffling of a dragging foot, scratching the pavement.

It was less of a footstep and more of a brushing sound, like a coarse rag drawn across a smooth slat of wood. The sound traveled along the concrete surface and crawled up her legs, up her back, encircling her neck, diving into her ears. That body didn’t walk towards her forcefully like any normal human being; it pulled itself, as if the motion was not provoked by muscle and tendon and nerve impulse but Takara’s hurried steps themselves. She dragged him through the street, as if he was attached to her by invisible strings. The fewer people there were to interfere, the closer the murderous presence drew to her back.

A darkened glass window lined the building’s front up ahead. A muffled heartbeat of music and conversation emitted from within. The desire to verify his presence was suffocating. She needed to look. First her reflection appeared and Takara caught a glimpse of a pale girl with a long, trailing ponytail. The cold expression on her face was nevertheless more fearful than any she had seen that familiar girl make in recent memory. Somehow, the gap between herself and that girl felt further than just two feet.

Takara’s reflection walked quickly across the club’s tinted black window. Immediately after her the twitching robed shape followed.

Her shutting lips stifled a gasp. He couldn’t have been more than ten feet behind her. How long had he followed at that distance? How long had it taken him to draw so close? He’d been subtle; so quiet that Takara wondered if he hadn’t run away. The man was near enough that if he stepped forward violently, his stiff, long-sleeved arms could set upon Takara’s shoulders, easily twisting her neck like a soaked rag in an act of dispassionate murder, or something worse. Her loosely opened hands clasped shut, tensing into stone-like clubs, and she unconsciously dug her fingers in nearly hard enough to draw blood.

“…Enough of this. I have to escape him!”

At that thought, her body fell forward. As if collapsing, she silently descended, trailers of ebony flowing behind her. The shuffling stopped with a sharp scratching sound. Takara broke into a low, frantic run.

The world ahead of her shook as if in seizure with every stride as Takara fled her pursuer. When she ran in a normal state of mind, her posture was graceful; every step smooth and evenly spaced. Now she was almost falling forward, moving every inch of her body as far away from the robes as possible. Cold air brushed along her cheeks and rippled through her ponytail, and she could only pray that he hadn’t gotten close enough as she unexpectedly broke away to grasp it, pull her back. Takara couldn’t hear her foe’s footsteps, so there were small miracles in the world after all. Now she had the freedom to look back.

She hadn’t heard his footsteps, because the figure wasn’t running after her at all. Takara looked upwards to the walls of the buildings on her left and saw a hideous, spider-like image chasing after her. The hat-wearing man had adhered himself to the wall, and was scrambling after her in awkward lunges, much faster than he would have had he continued to slide along the pavement in pursuit. Like a ball of unfolding fabric in the air, his actual shape was difficult to make out, but Takara soon realized that the hat-man’s head was inverted; the crown of his skull was gliding over the surface of the windows and drainage pipes along the building’s face, while his chest jutted outward, arms moving independently of each other in a grotesque crabwalk. And within his rippling sleeves she saw an unmistakable flash of reflected light, one that she herself was more than intimate with. Before she had been unable to make out his face, but the violent tremors of the man’s sickening movement made it all but impossible by then.

She increased her pace. Lights of every color seemed to streak past her in smudged ribbons of fluorescence; the street in comparison darkened and all sounds seemed to disappear. Her book bag swung against her like a club, and she considered dropping it, though it was no significant encumbrance, at least for the moment. As the streetlights faded and Takara began to enter unfamiliar territory, nothing accompanied her but her burning breaths, the throbbing of her heartbeat, and the faint sound of clicking. Something hard and sharp kept pushing itself into concrete surfaces, again and again, and the flapping of heavy fabric threatened to obscure its clattering. No matter how fast she fled, her stamina would eventually run out, and he would be upon her in seconds even if it didn’t.

Make no sudden movements. Trust in the comforting, familiar weight that resided in her pocket. She couldn’t remember when she’d hidden that knife within the folds of her skirt. All attempts to remain calm began to fail her. Takara had believed in the empty hope that she could have simply slipped away without confrontation.

With no other options remaining to her, Takara jabbed her free hand into pocket and withdrew her knife. The yawning maw of a dark alley loomed ahead of her, and she considered how insane she had to be to dash straight into it of her own will before dipping out of the spider-like menace’s sight.



Or at least, it had seemed like an alley, when she’d approached it. But when Takara rounded the corner, she found a dimly lit parking lot, small and tucked between several tall buildings. Moths populated the pools of pale illumination here and there, fluttering like shreds of paper in the hazy islands of light. Among the windows surrounding the area, no windows showed any signs of light, or life. Takara almost felt like smiling but the muscles in her face refused to pull that way; she couldn’t have found a better “arena” to face her pursuer in even if she tried.

But it was dark. He likely had the advantage. And there was only minimal cover to protect Takara, so she had nothing to rely on but speed and precision. The clicking she’d heard on the street echoed down the alley, louder than ever before. Even from that distance, it sounded like pickaxes chipping away in some dark pit. Seeing no other choice, Takara backed away from the parking lot’s entrance towards its edges, taking refuge in the slightly darker shadows near the “arena’s” walls and finally dropping her bag.

And faster than she expected, he resurfaced, bubbling up silently from within the dark sea of the parking lot. The edges of his robes caught the light and Takara viewed her pursuer in detail for the first time since the chase had begun.

His figure was crouched, but it was clear he wasn’t a very tall man. Takara herself probably exceeded him in height. The robes he wore were a mixture of dark navy blue and purple, but in poor lighting, one’s ability to perceive color was always hampered. Takara noticed the patterns of golden embroidery on the fringes of his garments reminded her of photographs of mainland nobility from late Chinese dynasties. His silken sleeves were long enough to obscure his hands completely, and shook like curtains as he moved, a mixture of slow, deliberate turns and sudden darting, quivering shifts in direction. The overall effect was entirely inhuman, despite his appearance: The movement resembled a stalking beast of prey, or insect, as if his mind was seized with some primal, predatory force. It became obvious as to why Takara hadn’t been able to discern a face on him earlier. Somehow it had eluded her notice, but more than half the man’s expression, including both of his eyes, was covered by a wide paper talisman, covered in illegible red scribbles. As if to replace the organs necessary for sight with a more esoteric, spiritual substitute, the charm sported a wide, minimalist red line drawing of an eye. As the beast’s “gaze” darted from left to right, the paper flipped up just enough at times for Takara to see, in its shadow, a completely blank face, expressionless and gaunt, eyes fully shut. The sleep-like expression contradicted the man’s movements in a way that made Takara wrestle down a mounting feeling of nausea. Her small mouth clenched shut tightly, and she covered both her nose and lips with a cupped hand.

As Takara had hid herself in the shadows, he, or rather, it, seemed not to have yet pinpointed her location. It moved its head to and fro to an inaudible kind of music, dancing spastic on an invisible puppeteer’s strings. Nothing but complete silence lay between Takara and the creature, now roughly 20 feet away, and it did not approach her, though it did not leave either. Its posture was alert, however, and presented no visible weaknesses.

Time passed, and Takara allowed herself a long, nearly silent, inhalation, to clear the lungs in her tightening chest.

The air froze in her lungs until she felt safe enough to exhale again. Suddenly, the hat twitched violently in her direction. From behind the paper tag, a flash of red eyes traced upwards as the corpse almost completely disappeared. The clasp knife exposed itself from its boxy handle in a graceful arc of blue silver light rivaling that of the moon, slashing even the night itself, but Takara’s enemy was nowhere to be seen.

She only had a split second to react as the fluttering cloth and red eyes that trailed burning pathways of red light slammed down hard into the pavement where she’d been crouching cautiously a moment before. Asphalt buckled and cracked under the impact. Rolling to the side along the hard pavement, Takara was briefly illuminated in one of the pools of light, tumbling back into the shadows and melting into them. Panting and resting in a low posture, knife raised at nearly eye level in a reverse grip, facing outwards, her eyes sought and found her assailant. The stalker slowly closed in, entering the bright circle with sickly short steps. Its tag rose up to “meet” Takara’s gaze before there was a sharp sliding of metal. Each long sleeve exhumed three bladed claws, spreading outwards towards the tip like diamonds. It seemed to watch silently for a moment, to let the fear of its weapons bloom within her. But Takara felt no such fear.

“So, you’re one of the dead.”

Stepping back cautiously, Takara kept her knife raised, but the hinting of a smile entered the edge of her partly opened mouth.

“Then there’s no need for me to hold back.”

Whatever that thing was, it had come at a bad time. She was not about to let her college life end before it had even truly started, and not about to give up on the peaceful days she had enjoyed since the end of the War.

She was not about to forfeit her life, the one he’d sacrificed himself for.



A mess of disorganized sound erupted from the darkened parking lot. The fluttering of school clothes masked in the flowing of ancient robes. The ringing of thin metal against hardened steel. Padded and stiff, shuddering footfalls. Arcs of light intertwined and clashed in shadow, and a dark figure would erupt into the halo of one light to fall back into nothingness.

He was fast, that was certain; perhaps even faster than she was. Takara could almost hear muscle and sinew rip when the enemy swung katar-like hands at her with bestial ferocity, but the silence and composure of a puppet. It didn’t feel pain, nor understand the limits of its skeletal structure; it only knew how to attack, and attack it did. She was almost always on the defensive, as the unnaturally coordinated, yet stiff, Dead swung its arms like pendulums and spears, its triple blades dashing at her unprotected body from the abyss of its sleeves. As it flashed through one pool of light, Takara saw that the enemy did indeed have hands, and its weapons split painfully through its knuckles and fingers in a messy way. It only made sense; after all, blades attached directly to his skeleton must have been firmer and harder to deflect. Takara could only attest to that as she struggled to parry the flurry of blows, one knife’s single edge against twelve cutting edges. A shower of pale sparks answered the clashing of their weapons as she struggled to push back against her foe, managing to shove him away from her with all her force focused into a strike against the flat of its right knife array.

She could feel his arm twisting and bending unnaturally under her blow. It didn’t roll the way a human’s would. In endless hours of kendo practice, Takara knew that a human’s limbs would move a certain way, give in a particular direction when faced with a forceful strike against an object they held. Even the pressure of that was enough to force an opponent’s weapon down in paired exercises. But this one didn’t know how to preserve itself. Its arm popped and bent backwards, as if trying to draw her off balance, and for a moment it almost succeeded, but Takara managed to evade his countering stab, ducking low, and to the left, under the threatening breeze. The scent of embalming liquids and ancient incense filled her nostrils, and a scattering of black lines traversed her field of vision. It was her hair, but to her fortune, it only represented the small, shallow scratch its three-pronged punch had left along the side of her face, near her temple.

What was most conspicuous, and what was foremost in her mind, was what truly troubled her and broke the concentration she needed to win. Takara couldn’t see this enemy’s lines. Or rather, she could see them, but they were so faint; neither could she reach them. Her movements were slower, less confident, whereas before they had been fearless. Something was lacking within her.

“I can’t read him. I can’t see the lines…”

He was a corpse. Theoretically, she should have been able to see the power that animated the creature written all over its body, and easily dissect it into myriad pieces just by tracing one line. Her Eyes were unable to detect inorganic things, but that seemed impossible; he wore silk, unmistakably; nothing on his person could have blocked or dispelled her perception. So why?

Struggling to maintain calm, Takara weaved through the Dead’s torrent of blows. No mere corpse slave would have that kind of flexibility or coordination, akin to that of a martial arts master, but nevertheless, it did, and Takara only had precious few openings to counterattack. One presented itself, and her blue eyes, shining in the darkness and leaving trails of azure hanging in the chilled air, flickered in and out of existence as she cut a wide swath towards the head of her opponent.

In response, the Dead simply flipped backwards, handily dodging her gale-speed cut and at the same time inverting into a half-handstand posture. Up and down didn’t matter to the enemy, and its foot flashed upwards towards Takara’s jaw. Something was wrong; she knew she wouldn’t only get a foot in the jaw if the strike landed. She evaded by half-falling backwards; risking a back flip would only take her eyes off the enemy and give it time enough to run her through. And as she had anticipated, a third blossoming of blades erupted from the velvet shoe’s toe, narrowly missing her chin. Momentarily off balance, Takara scrambled out of the way of another slash, than another, as the fiend leapt at her bodily, springing off both arms and one leg like a thrown rag doll. She gasped for breath, feet betraying her as she stumbled to the ground. Silver spades dug themselves in directly before her face, and extracted themselves as she rolled away from their second strike.

Something wasn’t right. Her movements were too slow, and her enemy’s too fast. It was as if she didn’t have quite enough adrenaline, or enough will to act. Her technique was perfect, but there was little confidence behind her swings. Takara had to admit; she’d declined in skill substantially in only a year or so. It wasn’t something as simple as mind-scattering desperation and maddening survival instinct. She struck back fiercely against the dead, slashing towards his stomach as if her anger alone would bisect him, but it only swept below his arms and cut a jagged scar across its chest, through the robe. While such an injury would be painful or crippling to a human being, it meant nothing to the animated cadaver.

Takara knew the reason. She had abandoned her “other self,” and in return, that Takara had abandoned her. Nanaya, the family name she had rejected, cursed her insolence and deprived her of the killing instinct and ingrained skills that flowed within her body. The line of killers seemed to watch her desperate battle pitilessly, providing her with no succor from the frantic struggle for survival.

“Why? Why won’t the Lines appear? Why won’t you help me?

Nothing but silence answered her from the dark recesses of her mind. Perhaps she had been alone all along.

“Why won’t you answer me? Don’t abandon-”

Takara raised her crossed arms, wincing as the Dead’s catlike blow glanced off the edge of her knife, razors glancing over her wrist and splitting skin like paper. The instincts wouldn’t come to her, nor would the Lines. She’d been robbed of her two principle defenses, ones she’d become too comfortable using. For a moment fantasy and reality intermingled and she felt she could glimpse within the corpse’s serene mask her own reflection, callously grinning; the eyes of a killer, but also a scorned ally, who watched her plight with only contempt, and a vague sense of satisfaction.

Panic flooded her veins like a deluge of shredding thorns. Her breath became ragged and out of tune with her infrequent attacks. Though it was nothing but a corpse, it was pressuring her, landing brief, glancing blows upon her extremities. The harder she breathed, the stronger and more vicious its offense became, as if it was attuned to the fearful throbbing of her heart. It reacted to her stabs, cuts, everything with natural ease, as if it had already been moving out of the way by coincidence whenever she was there, trying to land a crippling cut. With no means of killing it decisively, Takara was forced to resort to severing its insane, flailing limbs, but that was akin to grasping a snake by its tail. Fatal injury was almost certain.

Her swings grew closer and closer as she struggled to focus. Upward diagonal cut; a shape like the crescent moon flashed before her, and a millisecond later, Takara finally felt her blade bite into stiff flesh. Leaping back far enough to surprise even herself, she saw the Dead’s right arm hang loosely by a ribbon of flesh. That she could only express satisfaction at wounding an enemy seemed evidence of how far she’d fallen, but it was nevertheless enough a foothold for her confidence to take place again. Now she’d begin her offense again.

For the first time that night, Takara yelled. Her cry split the parking lot open, sundered the moon. Teeth gritted, her blade came down upon the creature’s arm like a guillotine; it tried to squirm away, but its limb came off at the elbow cleanly. Takara’s own bones seemed to shake with the forceful cut. Even with her skill, she wasn’t built for severing the limbs of other beings, and the corpse was not such a fragile thing. She could already feel the sores building in her right arm, and switched hands with an agile flip of the weapon. As the foe spun, its robes concealed a thrusting foot before the spikes shattered her vision. Takara slithered forward underneath the extended, weaponized leg’s rotation and slashed upwards, slamming her shoulder into the creature’s gut at the same exact moment.

Thick, black blood spattered her face; she only needed look at the reflective surface of her dagger’s flat side to see the chilling expression she wore, colder than the steel she carried, slept with and cradled next to her body in the most vivid of nightmares. The Dead’s useless remaining shred of a leg thudded ineffectually as it collapsed to the ground. The rest of it spun off into the dark and slid with a wet sound across the pavement, and Takara knew the thudding off in the distance was the severed limb continuing to shudder pathetically on its own.

For the moment, her enemy seemed immobilized, and she allowed herself a sigh of relief, though she didn’t lower her guard. Every single inch of her body seemed to ache with the pure exertion she’d forced herself into to defend against the monster’s assault, but she was relatively unharmed. She’d managed to win, even without the Eyes or Nanaya instincts. Sky blue eyes scanned the twitching remains from over the horizon of her blackened knife’s surface, as if she reclined behind a protective wall. With only one leg and barely a complete arm, it seemed impossible for it to retaliate for its lost limbs.

“Can’t believe it… Did I do it?”

She muttered to herself quietly, between troubled exhalations. She wanted to call home right then and there, to inform her mother and father that she wasn’t safe in Akitaka. So much for her independent, normal college life, but if she was in danger, no one could protect her better than her family, beside perhaps herself. The events of the fight put the later into serious question.

Her free hand searched within the confines of her pockets for the cell phone, before Takara was overtaken by a rush of cloth and a heavy, falling body so sudden the possibility of reacting was virtually erased. In an instant flash of violence, what seemed to be a second, identically dressed Dead, descended upon her from above, bladed hands pinning themselves into the ground. The body trapping her against the pavement, its fanning weapons drilled themselves deep through asphalt, so that it trapped her like a human cage, nailing itself to her, suffocating her with its nauseating stench.

“Another?!”

Her knife stabbed and cut into the monster’s stomach desperately despite the restriction of her arms. She struggled against its grasp, but the Dead felt no pain, and could not be compelled to move without brute force, and in that quality it had her outmatched. Something cold and wet, likely its long-unused internal organs, spilled onto Takara’s stabbing arm and stomach. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the scurrying of the previously defeated Dead, struggling to drag itself across the pavement in spastic, seizure-like bursts of movement.

She had to escape. She had to release herself. But its arms trapped hers and its legs fastened her to the pavement, like a still living insect pinned in a display case. Again and again her knife struck the Dead in ways that would be all but fatal to a human being, goring its stomach viciously and splitting its spine with a nail-driving stab. She flayed the Dead’s sleeve to mere shreds, and its arm to the bone, and yet it somehow continued to hold fast. She could simply not stretch far enough to sever its head or remove one of its arms entirely, with no momentum or range of movement to build up the necessary strength. Takara’s desperate struggle was interrupted as she caught a glimpse of something moving within the ornately dressed savage’s throat.

“No!”

While the sleeping face still remained obscured by the mono-eye talisman, the lips just under its lower fringe parted to reveal the shining of a final blade’s flanged point.

Slowly, it lowered its desperation weapon towards her face.

Takara’s eyes widened, exposing the entirety of the luminous blue irises that refused to divulge to her its secret of death, even at that critical moment. Only a swift movement of her neck saved her from impalement. Air rushed by her ear and the stabbing of chilled metal against the hard ground assaulted her ear, but she was saved, though still fully immobilized. Struggling with all her might only caused her to inhale gulps of air, and with every breath, the stench contaminated her lungs, making her gag, sapping the strength from her arms and legs.

Cornered and with the end of her life in sight, Takara struggled to do the only thing she could think of that would preserve her.

“Focus!”

She felt the muscles within her face tighten. Her vision became shaded as the creature’s head lolled back for a second try. And it was taking its time.

“Focus.”

Her head throbbed, and the pain sent a mimicry of itself, a spark of elation, through her heart. Just a bit more, and…

“I won’t die here.”

The Dead’s body began to glow faintly red. A familiar, vein-like network of black cracks etched itself across silk and skin without exception as the dull throbbing intensified to a sharp, piercing migraine. The humanoid beast’s image was dyed red by their subtle glow.

“I won’t die here!”

The anguish it sent through her was no longer just in her skull, but ran through her entire body like fatal venom, and for a moment Takara wondered if she hadn’t truly been stabbed, and her life already had ended. Every inch of her tensed and rebelled against the corpse-prison that sealed her against the pavement, and she released an involuntary cry, half of pain and half of fury. Eyes that saw Death shot open to their very limits with a gaze silver like the reflected moon.

“I won't die here!!!”

Her knife plunged deep into the creature’s body, just as its head lowered once more. No resistance of cloth or flesh got in her way; she simply cut.

Instantly she felt her form freed from the vice-like pressure flattening her, pushing upwards and rising through the falling shreds of silk, flesh and bone. The freed mouth blade shattered and scattered like ash against the pavement where her head had once been. On her feet, the killing glare of the daughter of the last Nanaya clan member, who walked through life since birth with Death by her side, returned at last. But the victory left her drained, with a body that screamed for an end to its torture. Her legs shuddered and collapsed from beneath her. They refused to move any longer.

“This… is my limit, is it?”

It would have been nice, she considered, to have been able to contact her mother and father. To assure her that she’d been happy at Jin-Sei, and that Akitaka was just the place she thought it would be. Her fate seemed to be to die there in that arena she’d constructed for herself, gutted and stabbed like a dissected animal. The only relief in her heart was that she’d completely avoided getting innocents involved in her inevitable murder.

Where was the power she’d called upon in the Sixth War? She’d felt so strong, and afraid, but for her weaknesses, there were others to fall back upon.

Perhaps that was simply it. When she had been fighting in the War, she was never truly alone. Always, always ”he” was connected to her, and would come to her side if she was in danger. She’d been guarded, coddled even, by both her family and her Servant. Now she was alone, and cold, fending for herself in a shadowy corner of an unfamiliar city. At that moment, the memory seemed so far away, and she seemed so tired…

The first Dead, still moving towards her like a savaged and crippled spider, hauled itself in desperation towards her, fanatically chasing its only goal. Takara moved away with all the speed her own, jelly-like legs could take her. But she realized then that what had been paralyzing her earlier and making her exhausted was that scent. Something in the robes numbed her senses, and she’d realized it too late. Takara’s legs were all but useless at that point; the poison had done its work. The Dead was almost at her feet by then, head tilted sideways in an inquisitive fashion, dragging itself on claws that clashed against the pavement.

Only to hurtle sideways, as the clicking in the alleyway abruptly stopped, and the Dead’s torso was launched through the air with a deep, sickening crunch.

Towering above her, a familiar, sunny smile framed in messy black hair dominated her vision. The boy lowered his foot, and extended an open palm, with a figure wrapped in pale white light. Before it had made her sick with envy, but at that moment, Takara couldn’t feel anything but relief.

“Hey. I told you to be careful! Girls like you are really more trouble than they’re worth…”



Takara had been prepared for a bloody end when she realized she couldn’t retreat from even the crippled Dead, though when dealing with death, few could ever be truly “prepared.” After her adamant resolution not to let her life slip away, she couldn’t have been satisfied with it amounting to nothing. Thus, she still clasped her knife in her hand as tightly as she could.

Of all people, the last one she expected to come out and calmly kick half a corpse well across the parking lot was Kira. But given only a moment to let his sudden appearance sink in, Takara felt somehow that it was the kind of thing he would have simply loved to do. Yet she was suspicious of him. Where did he come from? When confronted with an unnatural sight of that kind, why didn’t he run away? He seemed composed, even nonchalant, as he came to her aid. His face was half hidden in the shadows of the overhead parking lot lights and full of vigor. His wide crescent moon of a smile seemed to defy the moody, cloud covered one in the night sky above them.

“… Kira?”

The silver tone of eyes subsided. Takara blinked twice in confusion at his appearance, before her face took upon a more grave expression.

“… What are you doing here?”

No response. Kira’s grin only grew wider.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

There was something chilling in his eyes. Like a trace of a prowling beast of prey lurked behind his pupils, Kira stared upon the collapsed Takara. He towered over her from that angle, a monolith equal in height to the street lamps and buildings above.

Bending slightly at the waist as he’d done earlier that day, hands relaxed on his hips, he looked down on her with a jovial grin entirely at odds with his discomforting atmosphere. The happily pronounced words bounced callously out of his mouth as easily as any other.

“I came here to hunt you.”
He formed every syllable with a sadist’s artisanship.

[Kieran]

I am quickly remembering why this is one of my favourite fanfics - not just because it has Takara in it, but because she's written so well . . . *shakes head*

[Cascade]

It's hard for me to think up ways to put the lass in danger when her family is so powerful, lol

[Kieran]

No joke - that's why I ended up isolating her (and for that matter, so did you). Plus, how often can you deal with a rogue magus or a Dead Apostle before it gets boring? On the other hand, your meddling with her Mystic Eyes works well to ratchet up the tension - I can't wait to see what you do with that.

[Cascade]

lol, well y'know, can't have an ability that solves all fights decisively with one strike. It'll become a mess of dodging until the final blow, and my sensibilities are more brutal than that.

[Cascade]

There was a strange throbbing in Takara’s chest as her eyes grew shaded. It was subtle, but she felt pain at his words, distinguishable even from within her aching body that felt entirely made of nerves. It wasn’t physical; that was perhaps the reason why it was distinct. There was a subtle kind of familiarity to it as well.

“Prowling this city has been pretty unrewarding. But now that a fine woman like you has shown up, I owe you my thanks…”

As he closed silently in on her, she pulled away slightly, though that meager effort was the totality of her ability to resist, save one weak swing with her weapon. The last use of her Eyes had done something to her, cracked her. Certainly, it was as if her body had suffered a biological “short-circuit,” everything shutting down due to too much strain, save her most basic needs for survival. It felt like a legion of welts had risen under her skin.

“So… he’s responsible after all.”

It was that smile again. She hated it. If Kira really had been that kind of person, at least he could have talked down to her with a cruel smile, or a sneer of derisive amusement. The smile combined with his words seemed beyond hypocrisy.

“… Do it.”

With downcast eyes, Takara looked away shamefully. If she were at his mercy, she wouldn’t want to see Kira face-to-face in her last moments. He’d look happily down on her, even as he sent her to an early grave, or perhaps because all along, that had been his intention. His slave had fulfilled its purpose, so he only had to dispose of it before taking what he desired from her. It would make things simpler to have her destroy it herself. No remains or traces of existence would be left behind, save perhaps inorganic clothing. The Dead wouldn’t be missed.

But, if he drew closer, that also meant he would be within reach of her knife. Takara could make sure there wouldn’t be anything left of Kira, either.

“Oh? Looks like you’ve given me your blessings! Then, time to eat…”

A step closer. The contact of his footfall sounded like a dull, heavy thump, louder than a footstep should have been.

“Mother… father. It’s cruel of me to go before you like this, but…”

As Kira was pausing momentarily to caress his chin, he shot a glance upward, as if looking directly into his brain to think.

“Okay then… hrm…”

Takara’s lips curled into a tight, defiant frown, betraying no fear. The knife in her fingers prepared itself to streak out and deal Kira a desperate wound, if not kill him outright.

“… I promise I’ll take him with me.”

The joyous voice spoke up again, with even greater enthusiasm.

“Let’s start with… All right, give me your arm.”

Takara’s blood spattered face questioned back coldly.

“… For what reason?”
At this Kira made a strange gesture, as if holding a rib in his hands. His toothy grin in that context became more like a man picking the meat off his food.

“To gnaaaaw it to the booooone. It’s like dark meat: by far the tastiest. Try it sometime.”

“!?”

Something wasn’t right…

Kira’s smile disappeared, fading behind a lopsided, irritated expression as his hands rest on his hips again. His posture became lax with disappointment’s temporary fatigue.

“Hey, you haven’t realized it yet? Give me your hand already!”

Slowly, Takara began to feel as if she had had this conversation earlier.

“What?!”

Her eyes widened to punctuate her confusion. Within them a small fluctuation of color indicated her fatal ability, which had been returning to her up until that moment, had subsided once more.

A horribly crude laugh erupted from Kira’s throat. By the sounds of it, he’d been keeping it in for as long as the conversation had lasted. Takara heard his laugh and instantly realized what had just transpired, a slow redness lighter than the blood invading her face.

“Jeez, you’re slow. I knew girls in the city were airheaded, but you win grand prize. I can’t believe it took you this long to notice I was joking.”

Kira shrugged and shook his head from side to side, sadly lamenting his mark’s gullibility. Apparently he was entirely unaware of the threat his life was under.

Takara didn’t realize at the time that, with every word he said, the bubbling anger in her heart exceeded her most recent top score by leaps and bounds.

“…Joking? Joking!?”

Her voice cracked as she nearly shrieked, stumbling angrily on numb legs, as the poor, beleaguered girl, who had just been made fun of after a violent, stressful fight for her life, tried to strike back at her tormentor in any humiliating way possible. All of her built up tension and stress erupted from her in a way that she would later consider thanking him for: it was incredibly cathartic. She flailed a weak arm at Kira in a futile attempt to slap.

“I could have killed you! I-I wanted to kill you! What were you thinking, you idiot!?”

Takara raised her knife, her bloodstained features shifting into the face of a slighted, furious young lady. She handled the equally bloody weapon in her fingers threateningly, not to scare him, but to teach him a lesson for his imprudence. Responding in the way any sane man would, Kira backed off, clearly intimidated by her sudden eruption.

“W-whoah, easy! I’m not a suspicious character or anything! I’m the same guy you met earlier, Kira! I didn’t have anything to do with this! Just relax-”

“I know who you are. Why are you so calm? You just kicked a body-no, half a body like a soccer ball!”

Takara gestured at what appeared to be the splattered remains of the Dead off in a dark corner somewhere, looking neglected and rather pitiful, as far as gory messes went.

“Don’t tell me cleaning up walking dead is part of your job as a gardener?”

Kira winced at her yelling, kneeling down to her level. He rested over his raised knees like a child watching a bug on the ground.

“Ssh, not so loud. You’ll wake up the whole neighborhood. I’m sorry, really sorry, already, so just quit it!”

“What’s that got to do with anything? I’m furious! W-why would you play with my mind that way? Were you trying to finish me off with a heart attack?”

Kira shook his head, looking vaguely angry. His dark, short ponytail wagged at the base of the back of his neck.

“No, no, no. I’ll explain later, why I’m calm, joking, all of this. Right now, you need to be quiet.” Kira extended his hand again. “Now, give me your arm. You can’t walk right, can you?”

Takara blinked, going silent long enough to slowly close the clasp knife’s spoiled edge safely within its hilt, as if in automatic.

“So, he’s worried about me straining myself… for a jerk, he’s rather nice.”

She nodded silently, taking his hand. Her shaded eyes morphed into a wince as she came in contact with his skin. Not in pain from the startling heat, but in shock, for it still was unexpected. With her shell as strained and limp as it was, feeling the closeness of such strong vitality strengthened her, at least mentally. Kira’s image looked rough, just judging him by eye, but he handled her lightly injured but still sensitive body as gently as possible, like she was a newborn child. The arm that had only recently been soaked to the elbow in black blood rested upon his warm shoulders and hung about his neck. It was awkward, for the difference in height between them was, while not substantial, enough to force Takara to lean heavily into him, but Kira rose from the spot and lifted her along with him. Looking down, Takara could see the spot where she’d eliminated the ambushing Dead; nothing remained but a dark spot unidentifiable as blood and a wide spread of shredded fabric scattered amongst shards of metal. It hadn’t been as clean of a kill as she had previously imagined. That disappointed her somehow.

“…Yeah, if you kept yelling like that, in my ear, it would have been a pain in the ass. Not like you would have injured yourself screaming like that, since you seem fine, but it was just too annoying. Thanks, I really appreciate it, Takara.” Again he left out her honorific.

Kira’s voice drifted back to her, so much closer now. He lazily beat down any feelings of astonishment with his character using those words like crude, blunt instruments, and Takara’s face hardened as it had before, entirely unable to hide her irritation.

“… I think I’d be better off walking myself.” She attempted to relieve him of her burden, sliding off to the side, but as she did, looked down, almost instinctively, as if peering from a high place. Takara hadn’t noticed it before, through the maddening contrast of throbbing pain in her nerves and numbness in her muscles, but the Dead had done more than crawl up to her feet; it had sunk its claws into her ankle without her even feeling it. The wound was not deep, not enough to stop her from walking, even, but Takara feared making it worse. As if sensing her thoughts, Kira gathered the fleeing girl up into his arm again, this time catching the arm over his shoulder by its wrist, and looping his other arm about her waist. Takara could heal her wound, but she hesitated. He’d seen enough strange things for one night, hadn’t he? It didn’t hurt any more than she already did, and she hardly had even the strength to walk. Using a spell might have even worsened her condition. She had no choice but to rely on Kira’s charity for the moment.

Kira chuckled. “Like hell you can. You’re drugged, aren’t you?”

Takara looked away. His strong support gathered in the small of her back, but it wasn’t a happy feeling. She hid from him a pained expression, perhaps of shame.

“I got lightheaded just standing next to that corpse. Something was in the air, like an anesthetic… something like that.” Kira smiled, all but closing his eyes with his grin. “ But wow, I arrived just in time to see you kill that Fu Manchu thing with one stab, like that!” He gestured forward with his free hand, to simulate the stab she’d made, and pursed his lips as he blew, performing the role of the blade’s whistling. “It was beautiful; a masterpiece. Takara, you must be a natural born killer.”

Though Kira was ignorant of it, Takara winced. It wasn’t from her aching body.

“That leg looks pretty bad. Are you sure you don’t want me to carry you? On my back?”

“No. I’ll be okay.” Perhaps he was delivering the coup de grace through embarrassment, but she had a smidgen of pride left after all.



From there onward, Kira walked and Takara leaned on him down the avenue wordlessly, draping her bookbag over his other shoulder. Somehow the hours had slipped away from her. Reaching into her pocket, Takara examined the face of her cell phone. Midnight. There were even a few messages, in both text and voicemail, and she was positive she knew who sent them. Sighing, the freshman girl remembered Momoko’s words about being a bad student earlier that day.

“First coming late to class, and now staying out late at night… I’m becoming a delinquent for real now.” She murmured to herself.

“Hm? Really?” The friendly voice at her right answered back. She’d been doing her best to ignore his existence. Being that close to an unfamiliar boy, even if he’d helped her, still brought about instinctive nervousness in Takara.

“Oh, no… I was just thinking out loud.” Takara spoke even more quietly. Then, after a long pause, “… Thank you.”

Kira glanced sidelong at her tired face, smirking. “Hah, for what?”

“… Well, obviously for saving me. If you hadn’t been there, I’d…” Her voice grew faint.

“What are you talking about? I just happened to be around. It was the natural thing to do.” Kira unknowingly shrugged a little pain into Takara, but she was thankful for it. She’d become atypically exhausted. If she numbed, she feared she’d fall asleep. The girl was certain it was an effect of the poison.

“… Why?” Takara nearly whispered.

“Hn?”

“… You’re not afraid?”

“What?” Kira questioned ignorantly, like hearing a strange, unfamiliar sound.

“You saw me kill that monster. If you were a normal person, you’d be scared of me, wouldn’t you? Because I calmly cut that man into pieces.” Takara said, more insistently then.

“Ah, well, that looked like self-defense to me. I dunno, if he came at you with a bouquet of flowers, they looked an awful lot like carving knives.” The young man answered with a cavalier tone of voice.

“How long were you watching?”

“Only long enough to decide I needed to help you. About when you diced that thing. It was pretty scary, but I pretended I was crazy, and jumped in.”

Unknowingly, Takara leaned in closer to him, as her voice began to raise to normal volume. Why was he so calm? She couldn’t feel anything unnatural about him. The warmth in his shoulders was that of a living, breathing human being. So then why?

“…And you don’t think anything is strange about this? About me? Or those men? Shouldn’t you have run away? After all, it was scary, right? And you don’t know me that well…”

He didn’t answer for a minute. Staring forward, Kira let the words out, without his characteristic smile. Without even looking at Takara, he just continued walking forward into the empty street, focused on the road ahead of them.

“Are you saying I needed a reason to help you?”

“Huh?”

“I did it because I felt like it, and because I happened to be here. If it had been me, I… well, I guess I just trust you. I trust a lot of people. It sort of gets me in trouble, actually…”

Scratching his chin, Kira’s chuckle returned to him.

“I’m probably pretty stupid. After all, you need to be at least a little thick-headed to trust people these days.”

Takara frowned slightly, as if to say “Are you calling me ‘thick-headed’ by association?”

“Your trust might be misplaced. I could have been a killer, all along, like you said.”

“It’s simple though, isn’t it? Hah, I just got this feeling you know? Even though I act like this, actually I did think a bit about the situation ahead of time. You looked like you were getting attacked, and defending yourself, and I figured you’d do the same for me. I just guessed that you were that kind of person. Was I wrong?”

He leaned his head to the side a bit, almost pressing his cheek into hers unintentionally. Takara retreated from him, staggering along his side a bit further away than before.

“…I don’t… think you’re wrong. But I think it’s foolish for you to believe me like that, considering what you saw. You should worry more about your own well-being.” Takara smiled towards him, as if pitying the boy.

“Maybe your sense of danger is gone somewhere, or you’re just a little bit too crazy for your own good, but either way, please don’t put yourself at risk for my sake. I went through a lot of trouble to keep innocent people from getting involved.”


“Just as I thought!” At her words, Kira grinned even wider than before and raised his other hand, snapping his fingers.

“…But some thick-headed people don’t pay attention and show up there anyways.”

“Hey!”

“There’s nothing I can do about that.” She added.

Despite feeling like she’d been stung mercilessly all over, Takara smiled, and even felt a bit like laughing. The young gardener slumped in half-serious annoyance, and his grip on her grew a little more lax.

“Never mind that… I wanted to ask you a few things, actually.” Takara noted. “Earlier today, you knew I hadn’t had dinner. Did that really have anything to do with holding my hand?”

She shot Kira a narrow, suspicious glance, as he smiled sheepishly nodding with some hesitation.

“Of course it did. It’s one of my specialties… but obviously not a lot of people shake hands, so I don’t get to use it often.”

He opened and closed his free hand, as if to demonstrate on some invisible stranger.

“When someone shakes your hand weakly, they’re a bit sad, or at least tired. When they give you a strong handshake, they’re probably in a good mood. If they grip your hand tightly, they’re perhaps upset or dislike you.” Kira finished, half-laughing. “It sounds pretty obvious. But in a country where everyone is at arm’s length or further, it’s easy not to notice.”

Takara wanted to nod silently. After all, she would never have noticed those things about Kira if he hadn’t so crudely taken her hand. She wouldn’t know how unusually warm he was, or how rough his palms were, and from those two things she could determine he worked hard and was healthy, though deductions like the one he mentioned were beyond her. However, it was still an invasion of her personal space she wasn’t quite ready to forgive him over, though Takara’s ire regarding the matter had fled from her mind.

His dark eyes stared up into the starry blackness encircling the world from above. It was only the same expression and yet for a moment Takara thought the boy looked incredibly far off.

“There are so many things in this world that people would find amazing if they just watched carefully… I think that it’s kind of a miracle. If I didn’t notice little things, like the weakness of your handshake, I wouldn’t have come this way, and found you in that parking lot.”

Takara blinked. “You came that way because I hadn’t had dinner?”

“No, stupid. I came because it told me you were sad. That’s why I wanted to invite you out to dinner. But you went off so fast, so I decided to just follow you to your place and catch you there.”

With a lopsided frown, Takara feigned being cross with him. The irritation he provoked in her earlier that day was just a faint burning in the back of her mind by that time.

“… That’s called stalking, Kira.”

He at least knew what that word meant, for Kira jumped and quickly shook his head, like he was shaking water out of his hair.

“N-no! Well, I guess you could call it that. I keep forgetting that in the city, I can’t just go to people’s houses like I used to. Damn it!” He winced, for a second feeling like he was back in school once more, and being scolded by his class rep.

She turned her head to the side a bit quizzically. “Just what kind of place do you come from anyways? Is common sense optional there?”

“S-shut up. My hometown is… well, pretty far away It was this little place in the mountains of Okayama. Small, forested.”

“Oh?”

“I could just walk across the village and meet someone else there. No one locked their doors, and you were welcome in their homes any time if you lived there. Most people were just bamboo growers, gardening artists, other things like that.” As he recalled the memory, it seemed as if Kira drifted to that far off place in his own mind.

Takara studied his expression with some interest, but turned away again. Fuyuki wasn’t a large city in comparison to others, but it was clear the two of them lived very different lives. Suddenly his overly casual attitude and lack of basic urban mores seemed somehow understandable, though he was still almost un-Japanese in the way he carried himself around and wielded his words like a club.

“So, you lived in a small town like that? Were you friends with everyone who lived there?”

Kira considered for a second. “Most of them.”

“Really? It sounds wonderful…”

“I don’t remember much of it. I moved away before I was even finished with elementary school. Honestly, I wouldn’t be able to point it out even if you showed me a map.”

They continued to exchange meaningless, normal words, as if meeting for the first time once more, under less hostile circumstances. Even though saturated in blood and weak with the strain of battle, for the moment, Takara was not the daughter of the last Nanaya clan member, but simply Takara Aozaki, and somehow she felt absolved of the negative emotions she’d felt towards Kira that morning.

His presence too relieved her of the faint sensation of abandonment, though it would have been inaccurate to say she “missed” her inner persona. Never before had she felt so alone, until that night.



Their slow moonlit trek continued, Takara occasionally directing Kira back towards her apartment. Though it was midnight, the two had taken a slightly different route back, through side streets where the occasional pedestrian or club-goer wouldn’t notice them. Her mind was filled with premonitions of Momoko fainting at the sight of her blood-soaked uniform, or at the sight of the gardener she’d admired shamelessly lugging around her friend like she was his belonging. Sensation was slowly returning to her limbs, and she felt pain in her legs again, but it at least opened the possibility she could make it home by herself when the time came, or sit down and seal up the small cuts on her ankles and calves with the healing talent she had inherited from her mother.

“My parents… I’ve got to contact them too.” She almost regretted the possibility of being called back home to Fuyuki if danger reared its head in that new city, but she wasn’t going to put her life in danger if some supernatural psychopath was aiming for her, like a vampire, or ignoble magi.

However, with the lucidity returning to her mind and body, she also felt a realization. Takara had been making Kira take a somewhat roundabout route, without even realizing it. Although it hadn’t been intentional, she’d been dragging their walk out, forcing him to carry her here and there. She chuckled inwardly; this would be his punishment for treating her so rudely that morning.

They finally came to a familiar intersection. At the corner, a series of restaurants and clubs stuffed in one multi-story complex formed a small tower of neon lights, a Babel of multi-colored advertisement. A number of individuals streamed out of the entrance, most likely all in one group. Kira’s joking façade flickered out as he carefully rested Takara against a wall in a dark corner of the storefronts opposite the complex. While she didn’t take kindly to being stowed away like some piece of luggage, she was thankful to have made it that far without anyone noticing the dark stains on every article of clothing. For that at least she could excuse any potential misunderstandings and raised eyebrows people might have sent her way, seeing her so close to such a darkly attractive young man.

“Mnh, this isn’t good.” Kira grumbled under his breath. “Sorry Takara. Let’s rest here for a while.”

The line of sight to Takara was blocked by his figure as Kira attempted to casually wipe his brow with a handkerchief he’d brought along, looking like someone out on the town in cheap clothes after a tiring dance at a low-end nightclub. For his part, it was difficult if not impossible to see the tall, but still much shorter than him, girl in the blood soaked uniform leaning limply in a dark corner behind him.

“Hey… Kira. Can I ask you another thing?”

“…Yeah. I don’t care if you make it look like I’m talking to myself, but be quiet about it.” He naturally kept his back to her.

“Even though you witnessed something that frightening, you were really calm. Have you ever seen something like that before? Something…”

“’Supernatural?’ No.” His shoulders raised in mild interest in her words.

“Really?”

“Hm, I could say it seemed really normal to me. Or it didn’t feel strange. To tell you the truth, I just got fired from my job, so I’m kind of in a state of shock. Maybe that had something to do with it.” It seemed strange that a mundane, if unfortunate, occurrence in life could surprise Kira more than the sight of half-a-man attacking a blood-soaked girl.

“What? Really? But you were watering just this morning.” Takara struggled to keep her voice down.

“Shh. It was force of habit. I don’t need to do that anymore, but I work too slowly. I’m really relaxed when I’m with those flowers.” Kira smiled. “The scent and the feeling of sunshine put me at ease. I’d be happy even if I had nothing else. So I was kind of saying goodbye, and thank you… in a sense.”

On the wall behind him, Takara slumped down a bit more, but from relaxation more than exhaustion.

“That must be disappointing for you. You enjoy gardening that much?”

“What about you? Like ikebana? You seem like an upstanding Japanese lady.”

“Well, I only know a little.” Takara reddened slightly in Kira’s shadow.

“Heh, is that so?”

Kira tensed up, and grew quiet. For a long moment, he said nothing more, and didn’t answer when Takara spoke up again.

“Is there something wrong?”

“…”

Although it put her at risk, she peered cautiously around the “wall” he’d formed.

Amidst the crowd of club-goers, a man in faded maroon robes that were sickeningly familiar stared from far away at the pair in their shadowy hiding spot. And unlike the servants he’d sent out earlier that night, his face was perfectly visible. Jet-black hair combed largely to his right topped a thin, gaunt face that seemed in transition between youth and adulthood. His cheeks were ever so slightly sunken, as if he recovered only recently from malnutrition, and his complexion was ashen even in the tint of the moving, pulsing lights lining the building above him. His hand, draped in silk up to the wrist, hung outstretched before him, fingers clasped loosely in a gesture that seemed to request something; to take something offered to him. Only after a moment of staring did Takara realize it was not a gesture of taking, but of giving.

Set deep in his unhealthy face, the man’s cold eyes shined with a deep emotion Takara could not even begin to comprehend. Only the questioning remained: “How did you kill my pawn?”

“W-wow… I didn’t even see it.”

A sudden, heavy weight collapsed against her. Kira had slumped backwards, all his muscles failing him at the same moment. Staggering backwards into Takara’s arms, she struggled behind him until she too fell to her knees.

His eyes dulled drunkenly, and his legs and arms became infirm. Soon he was nothing but an immense burden weighing Takara to the ground, when only moments before, Kira had been supporting her in much the same way. The world in front of his eyes seemed to film over in a glossy haze. He descended slowly into the thick, black fog closing in from above and below his field of vision.

“Kira!”

His dark face smiled up at her even as a trickle of blood streamed down his chin.

“This is damn perfect, isn’t it? He got me good…”

Something glistened, half buried in Kira’s chest, directly above his heart. It drained the vitality from him, wilting him away. Takara’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about? Hang on!”

“Collapsing in this dark corner, nobody will find me until the morning. He’s smart.”

“No! We’ve come this far.” Takara’s eyes searched furiously for the man on the other side of the street. He was nowhere to be found. That confident, hateful stare suggested he would seek her wherever she hid, and he had plenty of time to track her down. A red blossom unfurled its petals in the center of Kira’s shirt, and though Takara reached for the needle that jutted three inches out of his chest, his hand clasped hers firmly, and the heat held her back.

“Why?”

This act of violence was nothing more than an arbitrary deed meant to punish the man who had dared to interfere with the killer’s hunt.

“Ah ah… don’t touch…” Kira was winking, but that was simply his smile turning a wince into one. In truth, his body was shuddering, and she could tell he was in extreme pain. His voice didn’t even show a single sign of pain. “Wouldn’t want you to get poisoned twice.”

His hand pointed weakly. From his eyes, Takara’s face shook as she refused his directions without hesitating.

“I can’t just leave you here to die. The hospital, I can-”

“… Heh, you’re too nice… for your own good. But you don’t know me.”

The burning heat that threatened to scald her was fading from his fingers. Tremors from within his chest signaled to Takara that which she already knew. His life was already ending.

Her fingers clasped his hand tightly, enough to cause pain; anything to keep him from closing his eyes, going to sleep. She felt his blood gather under her fingers near the needle in his chest; it felt like boiling water that grew hotter with every beat of his heart. But the fire was being slowly extinguished and Kira’s eyes grew heavy, robbed of their luster.

“-ra, please!”

“What is that? Haha, your voice is so faint.” He thought.

They were his last moments, after all. He’d earned the right to be even more audacious. Kira’s hand crept along the distressed girl’s arm, weakling ascending her shoulder. The effort was like climbing a mountain; Kira couldn’t imagine he had much untainted blood left in him, though it probably didn’t mean anything once the needle entered his heart. His wide palm and long fingers cupped gently around Takara’s stunned face, running over the dark smudges of red that painted her. He knew she could tell how cold his hand had gotten. Her skin shivered under his touch.

“-don’t!”

“Shit. This would really be the way a dog dies. ”

“-again!-“

“Lost in this city, one could hardly tell the difference between a dog and a wolf. Something from the mountains, something from a home. Both would die the same way.”

As he faded from consciousness, he worried about Takara, and what she would do; how she would run away. But he also wished that he’d gotten a chance to at least die more heroically, for all it was worth. Kira wanted to curse himself for such a thought. Death was death, no matter what form it came in.

His luck that day was without a doubt the worst possible.

Only at that moment had it finally turned around; though luck had a funny way of being subjective whenever it capriciously fancied.

[Kieran]

I'd forgotten how weird Kira could be . . . And now I'm remembering other things - and oddly looking forward to them.

[Cascade]

It had long been lost. As all lost things did, it sought to be found.

Nestled within the space between two verdant shadows of hanging leaves, it lay silent, but the expectation remained there nonetheless. Like a thousand spades they stretched over its smooth, blackened surface, worn soft by centuries of rain, gentle wind and dust. A hand could traverse the exterior without scraping itself until reaching shallow valleys that carved themselves modestly into the unbreakable gray face.

Traveling, touching, searching. Whether carved by man or by time, the scars remained, lacking sentiment. They only existed, for that was the nature of a testament. Rough palms caressed unblemished stone.

The feeling of dry paper between skin and rock alerted the sleeping mind to the presence of a trapped leaf, fragile in its transition between life and death. And all over, the mottled shadows danced back and forth, as if celebrating an endless festival known only to those lost things in the shade. The winds were its flutes, the soft creaking of oak and maple its drums. If one listened closely enough, perhaps the earth rumbling about beneath them had joined the spectacle as well. Hands soaked in libation left darker, more pure streaks behind them in long, wide roads that crossed those indentations.

Those unnamed, abandoned things that called out to man to find them, to hold them, touch them…

All lost things seek to be found.



“Gh!?”

The boy woke with a start. Gone was the burning sensation flowing through his chest and veins. Gone too, was the sensation of hewn rock, leaves and water from underneath his fingers. He would have been able to take it, had it not been a different kind of burning than the normal hot-blooded feeling inside of him. But when the needle had entered his chest and passed his sternum, Kira knew that his heart was being eaten alive. He could feel it wasting away, like a crumbling, burning effigy made in paper, and with it went major arteries, then veins, all scattering like embers inside his body, melting down. It hurt like hell, and it had been his last wish that he’d be the only one who’d have to experience it. That girl, Takara, had a bad enough night already.

But somehow he was conscious again. Kira didn’t know what happened; he’d most certainly died, but whether he still lived, or had passed on to whatever afterlife existed in the world, he decided it was better to simply consider himself fortunate, rather than ruminate on the mystery any further.

Still, it was an instinctive reaction, but his wide hand ran over his chest. His tanktop had been removed. Unfamiliar lumps immediately greeted him where flat skin should have met skin. Kira traced them. Index and thumb grasped lightly, not pinching, his hand traveled downwards, across, back across, and down again. It was simple to visualize it, but like something had wriggled under his skin, a scar shaped vaguely like a question mark had etched itself into his flesh, beginning under his right shoulder and terminating roughly at the right side of his stomach, near his navel.

Kira could only imagine one reason why after passing out for an indeterminate amount of time, an enormous, hack-job scar would mysteriously appear on his chest. That idea immediately came to his reckless mouth.

“…Son of a bitch stole my organs.”

Kira finally became aware of where he was. An unadorned, sizable apartment that would have seemed luxurious to any money-starved, Japanese city dweller, and he was lying on the floor, half-covered in a thin blanket, wearing just his jeans and no shoes. It was rather cold, and the air carried with it the stale taste of air conditioning, alien enough to Kira to be quite noticeable. There were no furnishings, but an immense window covered an entire wall, and beyond it, a shimmering night panorama of Akitaka City, more picturesque than a master painting.

“Oh really? I wonder what kind of price they’d fetch?”

Whirling about to confront the source of the voice, Kira was ready to throw a few punches and steal back his kidneys from the nefarious black-market organ smuggler. Only he realized that, for a hardened and deranged criminal with connections as far as Sri Lanka and Sicily, the “smuggler” was rather pretty, had familiar brown hair in a ponytail that in the dimly lit room seemed all but black, and looked a rather lot like Takara. There certainly were no surgical tools around, and he wasn’t lying in a tub of ice. If anything, the scene was entirely a departure from his limited encounters with film and fiction.

Kira blinked. It was Takara. The thought that maybe she’d stolen his organs after all came to his mind, but it got lost in the spin cycle as he shook his head furiously, shaking himself back into full consciousness.

“Takara... Don’t even joke about that...” For once omitting honorifics out of carelessness and shock rather than a conscious effort to tease.

Gone was the blood soaked school uniform, and in its place, she wore a pale white yukata that suited her all too well; contrasting with her dark hair and cool eyes, mixing with her own fair skin. Perhaps she was washing those clothes somewhere, but Kira had no idea how she was going to remove such a generous saturation of the red dye.

Although his loose tank top concealed very little, without it Takara could easily see how strong his body was. Beneath the small gold earring and Buddhist-bound ponytail, and under his neck, his body was slim and lanky, but lined all over with hard edges, the antithesis of Takara’s own body, and quite at odds with the typical torso of boys his age. Kira hardly looked like a weight lifter, but days of toil and menial labor seemed to have set permanently into his physique. The young man clearly was in exceptional physical condition, and would have likely excelled at any sport he played, from kendo to basketball. However, he also looked even more like a ruffian up close.

It wasn’t as if he had anything to hide, save his unadventurous tattoos in old Kanji on his right arm, which were all but illegible, and the newly formed scar, but Takara was ladylike enough to find everything in the empty room more interesting than his bared upper body. Conspicuously avoiding eye contact, she blinked, casting a quick glance in his direction.

“Sorry. I don’t know where we are, or how we got here. I wanted to leave and check for myself, but I couldn’t leave you alone, at least until you woke up… I probably should ask how you feel, right?”

Kira raised a hand to grip his shoulder, flexing his neck uncomfortably. The look in his face said he’d felt much better.

“My body feels heavy, and there’s kind of a dull ache in my chest… probably from this thing. But otherwise, I’m fine.”

More perplexing than his own survival, to Kira at least, was Takara’s reaction.

“Are you sure? I felt…” Her eyes shaded and were cast downwards. Takara gripped her two hands together, as if recalling the memory even then. “I felt your pulse stop. You were definitely dead back there.”

She raised her eyes to his finally. “And you’re saying you don’t remember at all how…that… appeared on your chest? It wasn’t there before, right?”

Kira tilted his head to one side and raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you know better than me? I’ve been unconscious all this time. Looking outside, maybe it hasn’t been more than an hour or two hours.”

What had transpired was apparent when she shook her head. “I was exhausted, and couldn’t stay conscious. I could barely speak, let alone call an ambulance. I tried to drag you with me to get help, but I barely got 20 feet.” Takara’s downcast gaze focused on the floor, apparently covered with a rather contemporary coating of tatami mats. “I’m sorry… If it wasn’t for me, you’d-“

His mood change and overly direct look sliced through her sentence midway. “But wow, I thought you were hot in the school uniform. This is something else entirely.” Kira winked at her lecherously. His darker skin hid the slight redness in his face that punished him for his bluff. “A traditional Japanese girl through and through eh? Except in a few places…” His eyes darted downwards.

His target, though, seemed convinced enough. Takara flushed back at him, her mood disrupted entirely. She shifted self-consciously away, guarding herself from his stares. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Eh, nothing really, just saying what was on my mind. You could just take my compliment as it was and be fine with it, you know. You’re so touchy, Takara.”

Takara fumed. “For just a moment, I was worried about you, but I see that wasn’t necessary.” She intoned coldly. “Even after death, he’s still totally ignorant of other people’s moods.”

With a flick of her dark hair, which settled over her shoulder gently, she turned her face away from Kira, crossing her arms. As she took her eyes off him, the mischievous expression he wore melted into something softer, but only for a second.

“Yeah, I’m a stranger after all, so let’s just forget about that now. We’re both alive. And you’re feeling better?”

She shifted slightly, looking back towards him over her shoulder. Takara was sitting, facing away from his makeshift bed.

Just the same as him, she’d woken to find her wounds sealed and her body free of wounds; as if that night, trapped in the hypnotizing gaze of the moon, the two of them experienced a waking nightmare when they should have been sleeping.

“I woke up without wounds like you. Don’t worry.”

She said those words, but looking down at the wound on her ankle earlier, she hadn’t remembered sealing it. In fact, it appeared to have been healed during her time unconscious as well, but the sensation of feeling creeping back into her legs was a familiar characteristic of her kind of restorative magic. Yet, she had felt powerful resistance to her power earlier, when Kira all but died. No amount of effort would resuscitate him; the power to heal would not come to her. Had it been another time, she would have been able to mend his flesh, and perhaps even the poison. What allowed them to recover was a miracle, or at least the mercy of someone else with a similar ability. The latter was nigh synonymous with the former in that case.

“… I also have the ability to heal others,” Takara stated, with some hesitation remaining in her quiet voice, though she knew by that time keeping it secret from him was meaningless, “like my mother before me. Perhaps I cured both of us, blacked out. Maybe my memory failed. There’s no way to tell.”

Kira smiled and his eyes widened with enthusiasm.

“Really? So you’re not just an ace killer then? Let me guess; you inherited that power from your dad then!”

“…It’s not that simple.” She murmured. Her dark eyes were fixated on the night skyline behind Kira, before her awareness returned. A faint smile traced her lips.

“I’m amazed you’re handling all this as well as you have. It seems just as natural to you as… seeing an unfamiliar flower for the first time.”

“I like your analogy.” Kira threw a dreadfully embarrassing thumbs-up.

Turning his head to gaze out the wide glass wall, he began to rest his arms on his knees. Beneath them, in the black sea dotted with lights, an aurora of blue and red, pulsating near a familiar area, caught his eye.

“Looks like they caught on to our little scuffle. Where is this place? We’re halfway across the city.” Kira rose to his knees and began rummaging through the sheets for his tank top. He could find nothing.

Takara’s cold hand set on his shoulder. “Wait! Are you sure you’re fully healed? You can’t just-”

It was shrugged off almost immediately, though it was because it chilled Kira. “Don’t worry about it! I’m pretty healthy. My sicknesses have never lasted more than a day, and scrapes only a little longer than that.”

The girl felt a strong urge to simply faint and let the exhausting man take care of himself. “I can’t believe you’d call an injury like that a ‘scrape.’”

“Just act like I got stuck with a big thorn. More importantly, we can’t sit around not knowing where we are.”

“That did occur to me. But I needed to make sure you came to.” Takara stated insistently. “Please rest here, there’s no need for-.”

But Kira was already halfway across the room, walking to the door with his typical long stride, completely un-winded by the experiences earlier this night. Granted, Takara herself had made almost an entire recovery, so if he had underwent the same treatment, never mind who was responsible for it, he’d be in healthy enough shape to at least not suddenly collapse without reason.

“If I stay around this boy any longer,” Takara thought, “I’ll die long before my time, from the stress alone…” She couldn’t deny that he concerned her, but that sentiment was akin to watching a close acquaintance’s pet while they were on vacation. If Kira went and got himself killed on her watch, regardless of his worth as a human being, the future would look very painful indeed.

After all, he didn’t seem quite as bad as her first impression had implied. She owed him, too.




For all his recklessness, the boy hesitated at the entryway, as if on the precipice of a new world.
“Even dogs had a good sense of danger.” Takara reasoned, half-jokingly. Her feet were bare; the shoes and socks had gone to wherever her clothing had went, replaced only with that remarkably thin and airy yukata. In the heavily air-conditioned room, it felt as if every nerve in her body had chilled at its tip, directly under her skin, and her form had become a fragile sculpture of ice. Even though she could discern no abnormalities within her, caution demanded that she move with deliberate care. The man who spontaneously attacked them, most likely a disciple of magic, continued to lurk out there in the city. For all she knew, Kira’s ridiculous theorizing about organ theft could have been correct, and the oriental-robed man, whether he was magi, vampire, or something else, had captured them for his own perverse designs.

“Now, we should be careful. I’m unarmed now, and I don’t have my cell phone, so…”

A crack of orange light flooded her vision. The empty apartment had been so dim that the sigh nearly blinded her.

“Kira, what are you doing!?“

“I didn’t do anything!” Kira exclaimed, raising his hands as if it proved anything. “The door opened on its own…”

There was a subtle shivering in his voice. Takara watched the boy suspiciously, who looked composed, outwardly at least. He walked forward with greater caution than before, and she followed him, the two pairs of bare feet crossing the metal doorframe beneath them, chilling them as they shuffled over. Apparently automatic, despite all appearances otherwise, the door closed behind them.

“And here I was thinking this night couldn’t get any weirder.”

“You’re one to talk, stalker.”

“Ssh!”

They had exited the apartment into what seemed to be a large, circular floor. The room was large and spacious, but its shape was ultimately somewhat crescent-like, and it became apparent why the window was so large: all the rooms on the floor circled an open air, central shaft, most likely an atrium, lined with a intricately carved cherry-red wooden railing. That railing also lined the edges of a spiral staircase that corkscrewed down the atrium, and curiously, it all seemed to be one solid piece of wood. Dragons, flying phoenixes, tortoises entwined in a reproductive embrace with serpents, and tigers traveled in a fantastic parade of marvels along the wood railing. Once in a while, one of the carved beasts would carry a large, white pearl between its jaws; it appeared to be a fluorescent bulb, but the building’s common space was well-lit by many Chinese-themed lamps, decorated in auspicious gold and red, and dangling gracefully from the white walls and ceiling. Many seemed to generously incorporate precious stones, like jade and occasionally even ruby, into their design. It was difficult to imagine the cost of even one fixture, or the recourse for buying so many of them.

Kira scanned the area. Eight doors, identical to the one they left through. There didn’t seem to be an elevator door anywhere. Their bare feet pressed soundlessly into a dark red carpet that too was adorned with red symbology from the mainland.

Takara peered over the edge. The lobby floor was visible a dizzying height below, and the spiral followed the circular walls all the way down. The building appeared to be eight stories tall.

Kira’s voice returned from by her side. He too was looking over the edge. “No elevator? How do they move in here?”

An odd sound bubbled up between them. She could hear him gulp. The lobby floor seemed to retreat from them like a special effect from an old suspense film, making Kira’s stomach lurch. He couldn’t tell her about the familiar sensation of nausea when he tried to see the bottom.

“The designer must not have cared about building codes.” Takara noted. Beside the fact that it was probably illegal, the building’s layout seemed tremendously inconvenient for the process of moving in. It would perhaps explain why they appeared to be entirely alone.

All around them were the signs of exotic lands long erased from modern society, yet the building’s design was contemporary. That contradiction pervaded every aspect of its design. The walls appeared white at first glance, but had a smooth texture with faults of black that evoked the image of natural marble. The Asian aesthetic was not universal: There were also Greek influenced frescoes and Renaissance style busts occasionally set into alcoves in the walls. The whole of it was as transparently multicultural as Akitaka City. As Takara and Kira moved down the stairs, the entire building seemed as if it rotated around them and they were suspended on the edges of an immovable shaft of air.

Though lifeless, the air carried with it a drifting, ethereal scent. At first Takara imagined that it belonged to a flower or perfume, for it was light and natural, not like the scent of a chemical, or heavy air freshener. The ever-present, ghostly scent surrounded them, caressed them, traveling into their subconscious, attempting to awaken memories that did not exist. With each step downwards to the lobby, it became stronger, but nevertheless subtler still.

“Incense?”

Kira muttered, giving voice to Takara’s immediate thought. Without question, it was incense, old and medicinal. It intoxicated the unaware mind, and unpleasant memories of the foul embalming musk that had numbed her body made Takara increasingly alert.

“They took my knife…” She had trained in savate, but the enemies her kind faced were nothing so mundane that they could be dispatched by hands and feet. There was no menacing atmosphere, no feeling of hostility whatsoever around them, but nevertheless, the hairs on the backs of both their necks stood on end. They could do nothing but move down the corkscrew.

Takara noticed Kira had been looking strangely at her once more.

“…What? Is there something wrong?” Self-consciously, she drew her shoulders and arms in, her back straightening.

The gardener boy turned back. “Nothing.” His right hand grasped the base of his ponytail, followed by the other. “I was just thinking it was shame. You look really cold, but I’ve got nothing, not even my tank top, to give you. I should have taken the blanket with me.”

The manner in which she averted her eyes suggested being flattered by his concern, but Takara stated in calm, even monotone: “Thank you, but I don’t think I’m going to be the one catching a cold.” He was shirtless, after all.

As he opened his mouth to reply, Kira’s voice was replaced with a single, long chord. A melancholy tone, hollow and loud, verging on strident, echoed from the pit their staircase wrapped. Another moment of silence passed, before the second chord emerged from the lobby floor, followed by many more. Soon the melancholy gave way to a hauntingly subdued tone that was equally hollow, yet filled with a rich brew of nostalgic sentiment. Like the wafting incense, it too seemed a tool of the past, pressing and feeling in the un-molded clay of their unconscious minds, searching for trace signs of an inconclusive event, or a phantom sensation, that Kira and Takara were not aware of. Yet that too was an illusion, for no such memory had existed to begin with. It was music that provoked an artificial, calming sense of recollection, remembering things that one could not remember.

More precisely, it felt like a feeling of remembrance directed at the future. A sense of remembrance directed at the present: déjà vu. However, they both sensed it. A feeling of being on the verge of an undiscovered pathway seized them from within.

The music continued until they arrived at the lobby. There it greeted them along with the full view of the apartment complex’s open ground floor. Darkened doors that resembled shop entrances and offices circled around the spiral staircase’s landing. Most of them weren’t of the gift shop and convenience store type. A pair of glass doors, tinted dark, marked the street entrance, and directly across from it, on the other side of the wide lobby stood an unoccupied desk. The gold lamp with green plastic shade and notebook were left entirely unattended; not surprising considering the late hour, but it only contributed to the abandoned feel the place gave off. The song and its organic pace was the only sign of life apart from the young pair.

Perhaps the lobby’s most captivating feature was its perfectly polished floor. At the center of the atrium lay a fountain, or more accurately, a reflecting pool, in the shape of an octagon. Its placid surface reflected the spiral above and the skylight further off. Drawing near it, they could see that beyond being a mirror-like reflective surface, the patterns beneath the water were profoundly mystical. A circular diagram, like a zodiac, or guide of elements, decorated the bottom of the pool. Gold etchings fanned out encircling a sun-like red dot in the center. There seemed to be no spout to make the pool into a fountain, nor drain to circulate the still water.

They moved in the direction of the unseen string player, crossing the lobby to a pair of open, dark oak doors. They had entered a bar. It fused elements of the classic style with contemporary, mixing generous wooden fixtures and a long mahogany bar with artistically lit liquor shelves. Typically dimly lit, the bar’s warm glow crossed Kira’s face as he wondered if the sterile establishment had even once seen visitors. However, the music was strongest there.

His attention was quickly seized by Takara’s whisper.

“Kira.”

She didn’t have to point. Seated in a recessed booth at the far end of the room sat a young lady, almost a child. Against the dark red of a velvet seat, her body was white marble; so too was her hair, that trailed down in two graceful ribbons over her exposed shoulders. Atop her head was a black bow with medium length ribbons. Her face gazed downwards, eyes obscured as if closed in sleep, while thin hairs waved back and forth with the subtle movements of her playing. She wore a black dress, but most of it was obscured behind what she carried in her doll-like hands. Her thin, pale arms embraced a tremendous instrument that was, though not as large as a double bass, sported an intimidating number of strings. When she drew the bow across its front, smooth, mellow notes emerged, and when her other hand disappeared behind the instrument’s neck, plucking sounds without the sharpness of a guitar soon followed. Her chin hovered over her instrument as if she slept, bobbing subtly with the fluctuations of the melody. While she focused on her music, the expression in her face was of immense concentration, but entirely serene.

As Kira and Takara approached, the music stopped abruptly. The girl’s hand and bow froze. Slowly, her pale face rose. Her wide, glassy eyes opened like two pools of blood in a sea of milk. However, the beauty in her face, unnatural as it was, could not be denied. It was as if she had been expertly crafted from birth to be a masterpiece. The expression she wore, however, was devoid of emotion, as doll-like as her body and complexion.

The stare was not one of recognition. The enigmatic girl simply looked through them. Takara didn’t know why, but it was strangely familiar. Not in a pleasant way, either.

Kira on the other hand, seemed quite fine. Internally, the girl unnerved him as well, but the feeling was not so strong as to prevent him from waving amiably and speaking.

“…Good evening!”

The young girl said nothing in response. She continued to stare, unmoving. After she was apparently satisfied, her ruby eyes lowered to the instrument wordlessly. The music commenced again. Kira could swear that it was lower than before.

He turned to Takara with an embarrassed, lopsided grin.

“Like I said, it’s kind of chilly in here…” he muttered under his breath.

The girl continued to play. She was one with her strings, and it seemed wrong to interrupt her. But she’d acknowledged them. Takara pressed a gently curled hand to her chin. Perhaps she wanted them to come closer, or sit quietly and listen.

Tugging gently on Kira’s arm, she walked slowly towards the ghostly girl. Their bare feet slid across the wooden floor silently, providing no interruption of the nostalgic song. Takara slid into a booth next to the intently focused musician. Kira, looking confused, but saying nothing, followed her in. Sitting in their booth silently, neither party could see the other; the music was the only thing that passed between them.

For an entire hour they sat. The mysterious girl continued to play tirelessly and competently, and her music continued to fill their ears. But the enigma of her music was not strong enough to keep Takara from growing drowsy. She rest her arms upon the booth table. Its surface chilled her skin, but her eyes grew no less heavy.

“Kira.” She spoke cautiously, so as not to interrupt the musician.

“Yeah?”

“Sorry. I’ve been so unkind. You helped me tonight. You deserve my thanks.”

“… It just happened the way it did. There’s no need to thank me.”

“But, I am sorry. In the end, I…”

“Hm?”

Takara hesitated. The words Kira had intercepted earlier sneaked out unhindered in her faint breath.

“I forced you to ‘awaken.’ This part of the world, which I was born into, wasn’t something you had to see. You could have continued to live life normally,” she murmured, “but now…”

His eyes, no less energetic than their meeting that morning, were lined with sympathy, encouraging her to stop.

“You can never go back, right?”

“That’s never an option.” In his low voice, laden with sentiment, few traces of the joker she first met remained. “Not unless you can turn back time. So, I think it’s better not to worry about it.”

Leaning back in his chair, he smiled and looked upward towards the ceiling, crossing his weary arms behind his head.

“When did you ‘awaken’ to this part of the world?” The enthusiasm with which he formed the words made Takara doubt his grasp of the danger he was in, or the kind of danger that had harried her long ago.

“I was always aware of it. It was my mother and father who did the waking up.” She sighed, though the feeling behind her words was warm.

“Really? So you’ve been dealing with these things since you were young?”

“Well, no. I just knew my mother and father had… interesting lives. My godmother and aunt, maybe most of the people who raised me, knew many secrets about the world. But they were weird enough people without being involved in supernatural things. It wasn’t until high school that…” She stopped herself. “Those secrets came to me.” A faint smile graced her lips.

Kira was leaning on his open hand. Though it was a bored-seeming pose, his interest was clearly piqued.

“Is that so? I’m envious.”

“Why?”

“Because when it came to my family... Nah. It’s not as interesting. I’m pretty normal.”

His words drifted off, as their company ceased her playing. Quiet footsteps circled from the booth she sat in before the girl emerged before them again. She carried the hefty instrument in her arms effortlessly, despite its awkward shape. Her red gaze fixed upon Takara and Kira in anticipation.

Feeling the pressure of the mysterious, unsociable girl’s stare, Takara nevertheless attempted to smile. The sensation was alien to her, and even though she felt its duplicity through her own face, she had to believe it was convincing. She had only then realized: it had been some time since she had genuinely smiled.

“… Did we interrupt your performance? I’m sorry.”

The girl did not speak, but simply shook her head. It was hardly even that; she simply slowly turned it from one side to the other.

Takara felt an uncomfortable lump build in the back of her throat.

“I’m… Aozaki Takara… I loved your music. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

A sharp tug on Kira’s arm coerced him to speak up once more. The young man jumped to action.

“Ah! Kaede Kira. What’s your name?”

No answer. The silent girl, with a half shut, indifferent stare, turned her back to them. The trailing ribbons of hair fluttered in the stillness behind her, as she gazed over her shoulder towards the two, expectantly.

“… Accompany me.”
The tiny, feminine voice startled both of them. It was faint enough that it seemed even a strong gust of air would extinguish it. With those words, the string player began to walk out. Her small, graceful steps and petite figure only reinforced the image of sublime perfection she had impressed upon both of them, at least in physical form. The spectral voice she possessed was unsettling. As if the words were merely sounds, she pronounced each perfectly with only the most indistinct traces of emotion behind them.

Tentatively, the pair rose from the booth. Takara’s nose itched with the beginning of a sneeze, but none ever came.

“… Maybe she was the one who…”
All she could remember was a blur of white appearing before her as she blacked out on that street. The young girl, who was remarkably diminutive and wore a striking sleeveless black dress, did not satisfy the vague image.

They followed her in total silence, save their guide’s footsteps, out to the lobby once more. The girl had taken to holding the entire viola/bass/cello/mystery item under one arm, and as uncomfortable as it looked, seeing as the whole thing nearly equaled her height, she handled it like an afterthought. Standing closer to her, Takara spotted a number of strings on the inside of the neck, facing the player. The player could perform both viola-like strokes with a bow and pluck like a guitar at once. She had never seen such an unusual, yet expertly crafted instrument.

“Come to think about it, I remember something…”

Kira turned to see Takara deep in thought. His hand rested upon the serpentine scar as he looked down towards it.

“What do you mean?”

“This girl… I think she’s familiar.” Takara leveled a gaze at the short girl. “Aren’t you a-“

“You may see Marcel now.”

The deadpan voice cut off Takara’s as if the girl hadn’t heard her speak at all. Turning around, she stood framed against the reflecting fountain, twin tails encircling her rotating form. Stepping aside in a movement that resembled a curtsy, the girl gracefully sat upon its edge.

“Still using that name for me, are you?”

From above them, a voice sounded. It was smooth and amicable, and contained within it a silent kind of joy. The language was polite, civilized, and artificial. Immediately the man who emerged, descending the spiral staircase, seized Takara and Kira’s attentions.

He was of average height, though somewhat tall for a Japanese man. His physical features, however, made his ethnicity difficult to specify. He possessed a long, slender face, perfectly symmetrical and unblemished with any unusual mark, and he appeared to be in the twilight between his twenties and thirties. Like the girl before them, his skin was pale, though not as remarkably so, and his hair was of a dark black shade, almost to the point of tinting blue. It framed his flawless face on both sides in semi-long bangs, and ended behind his head in a vaguely effeminate ponytail.

A pair of silvery, wire-framed spectacles sat upon his nose, obscuring his eyes with reflected light wherever he turned his head, and for a moment Kira wondered if they weren’t mirrored. His clothes appeared as expensive and flamboyant as the building itself: a pure white business suit, with a slightly darker, cream-white overcoat, white slacks, a silver-grey tie, and most strikingly, a long scarf that encircled his neck and hung as low as his thighs. It too was colored white, but its stark color somehow was easily distinguished from all the other articles of clothing he wore. It was visibly thin, and fluttered in the air in an odd way. It almost moved of its own accord, but the whiteness disguised all folds and ripples in the fabric, at least from where Takara and Kira stood. It was as if the man wore living strokes of paint, and he himself was a moving portrait; the enigmatic smile he wore for reasons only he understood himself, and the image of him as he dragged a gloved hand across the ornate hand railing, comprised a piece of artwork. He and the quiet girl both were human pieces of art, perfected to a degree that was altogether surreal. Simply looking at them was enough for another human being to be discomforted by their unnatural flawlessness.

“Forgive my associate’s lack of manners. She is not fond of casual conversation, I’m afraid.”

The two chilly and semi-clothed youngsters watched him step down from the staircase with a little jump in his stride that seemed to convey an inordinate joy. Even walking normally, the man’s long steps gave the impression of dancing. His voice too, danced about the echoing, spacious lobby.

Lowering his gaze, the glare across his lenses disappeared, revealing two irises of a blatantly unnatural color: blue, so light and strong as to be cyan, and brilliant. They weren’t luminous, but it was hard not to believe so, as they burnt deep into the mind. Narrow and almost closed, it was remarkable to Takara that she could even see the cornea.

“I am Kurogiri Jin. And I welcome you…”

He turned. With arms outstretched, as if to embrace the entire world, he gestured to the lobby on all sides, scarf following his movement loyally. Turning in a full circle, his grandiose gesture ended with a tip of his glasses, extending his index finger and pushing them up. A flash of glare glanced off the spectacles.

“To my Great Cormorant.”

[Kieran]

And now the really fun stuff starts . . .

[Cascade]

Appreciated, although as always, you seem like the only person following the fic, lol.

I just realized I haven't been interspersing my Asura chapters. I guess I'll have to put them in another thread, lol. XD
When I update with my new chapter however, it will be in a second thread and the new sidestory will be interspersed like the old style. I'm split on whether to do the high school gangsters side story or the wuxia side story first.

[Kieran]

I'm kind of used to ancient history battles by now, with all the authors who do flashbacks - I vote Mafia.

[Ace]

I'm following it, I just haven't gotten very far yet.

[Cascade]

Any readers at all are appreciated. I like comments. XD
I'll probably put up Ashura in another thread today.

[Cascade]

“Hmm…”

The pale suited, bespectacled man began a slow, pacing circle. As he had on the stairs, he drifted about, loafers gliding over the polished floor, and leaned discretely towards his two guests.
Takara found his presence difficult to reconcile. Something about him tugged at the hairs on the back of her neck. It wasn’t just the air conditioning.

“Excellent work, if I do say so myself. For a rush job anyways.” Cyan eyes flashed behind his lenses, which were akin to polished crystal. “I suppose there is nothing to be done about the use of such expensive materials, but it simply cannot be helped.”

As he spoke, he came to a stop in front of the pair, and, as if natural, the young, pale girl silently stepped to his side, as the man began extract himself from his white overcoat.

The white stranger’s spectral presence begged questioning, as if the building, having had some of its mystery sapped away by him granting the name Great Comorant, transferred its power to him. Takara couldn’t stay silent for long.

“I am Aozaki Takara, and this is Kaede Kira. You were the one who brought us here?” She questioned softly. As if he had already anticipated her words, the man known as Kurogiri raised his eyes to meet hers a moment before she began to speak.

“Ha ha no, technically not.” He began to fold up his coat with a dry laugh. “You’ve met my good friend and colleague of course. My assistant, Innocentia.” With a cordial hand gesture, he motioned to the childlike girl, who had set aside her “guitar.”

“So, you brought us here when we passed out.” Takara focused her attention on Innocentia, unwilling to miss a critical opportunity to be polite, lowering her head in gratitude. “We’re in your debt.”

“It was my pleasure. You needn’t thank me.”
Innocentia displayed a picturesque curtsey for them. Her voice was still wispy but some of the emotionless gloom had disappeared. The man’s presence seemed to energize her somewhat.

She then took Kurogiri’s coat with a flat expression and lack of attention that suggested she was in the midst of a daily, or even hourly, ritual. Examining her, Kira and Takara both coincidentally considered the matter of her age, and whether someone who appeared less than 14 years old could be a servant of such a man. Additionally there did not seem to be any relation between the two.

Kurogiri bowed deeply as well, his smile only growing wider. “True to her appearance, she is a consummate lady. Contrary to her appearance, she is quite stalwart, though her build may be slight.”

The atmosphere shared by the unsettling pair grew more and more suspicious. However, they could not have been more different. Kurogiri conducted himself with the panache of an actor, his manner eloquent and voice politick. Innocentia seemed terse, unenthusiastic, and frigid in demeanor. Kurogiri was tall and appeared very mature, while his assistant had hardly blossomed into a lady as he so suggested. Of course, their choices of white and black as their respective colors only accentuated this difference.

Kira noticed something else as well. The familiar trace scent of incense had set deep into the man’s clothes. While considering this, he was brought back to the present by the man’s soothing voice again.

“I hope that you two weren’t terribly uncomfortable. I’m afraid that as my building has few tenants, and more pressing matters demanded my attention, I was unable to provide proper furnishings for your room.”

The room had been entirely bare, so Takara thought it was unusual Kurogiri would think it was unreasonable that he wasn’t able to, in a few hours, fill an entire room with the proper furnishings.

Kira too thought about the room in which he woke up, and how empty it was. Takara was there when he came back to consciousness, but she had no blanket to rest under, so, after his brief paranoid episode, he had worried she was going to catch cold. But then where had she been sleeping? Kira shot her a glance.

The menacing, flushed glare she shot back at him could only mean one thing; It wasn’t something she wanted to talk about. Kira decided to engage with their benefactors, a bit more nervously than before.

“I-I’d be pretty stupid to criticize you about that. I’m just glad to be alive.”

“So are we.” The small girl remarked, somewhat abruptly. The way she interjected almost suggested that she was unaccustomed to the natural rhythm of conversation.

“Glad you’re alive, that is.” Kurogiri added. “As owner and landlord of this building, it is a failure on my part not to provide sufficiently to the needs of my guests. Modesty demands that I apologize to you for this.”

Kira felt like his body was being turned to the same marble in the floor and walls. The conversation was well on its way to becoming awkward and stiff, for he had little sense of genteel behavior. He fiddled with his short ponytail, chuckling nervously.

“Well, I er, accept your apology. This is a pretty swank place you’ve got here. I can’t be anything but impressed.” Another nervous laugh. “Um, to be honest, a 2ldk is like a palace to me… I’ve never seen an apartment that spacious.”

It was easily three times the size of his current place, which he expected eviction from in short order, and twice the size of the one he lived at before.

“Please, we are more than fortunate enough to have been taken in by such kind people.” Takara nodded in agreement. It was surprising to Kira that he’d actually had a similar impression to the city dweller. Perhaps it was just natural to any Japanese person to feel that way, what with the intimidating crowded cities.

Takara’s voice hid her suspicion of them. There was no question that the girl reminded her of a boy from her memory, but unlike him, this one was devoid of the passions that continued to animate him. As for Kurogiri… Takara instinctively knew that he was no simple landlord. Time would tell if the smile hid a more malicious intent. The unearthly atmosphere of his building made her sick, and Kurogiri was almost certainly at least aware of the supernatural.

Kurogiri nodded his head once. “Well, we certainly try to be. In any case, I suppose there are quite a few things we must discuss.” The white ghost beckoned with his gloved hand as he turned towards the stairs, Innocentia following him as she gathered up her instrument as well with no discernible effort.

“Though the night is no longer young, why don’t you join us for a while? I am certain we may have some stimulating discussion to share. And of course, with that must always come tea.”



He led them to the top floor, near where they had resided before. Somehow the trek upstairs felt shorter than walking down. The staircase continued upward, oddly enough, into the ceiling of the top apartment floor, through a rectangular opening. From the looks of the grey metal door and its dim red exit light, it appeared to lead to the roof.

Kurogiri, who had been surprisingly silent on the way up, closed his hand around the handle. “I entreat you: Stay close to me now.” He murmured. “It would be a shame for you to get lost on your first night here. Take care to step through no less than 5 seconds after I have.” Innocentia followed so closely behind Kurogiri that she was at times already stepping into his footprint the second he raised his foot.

Naturally Kira was perplexed. “It’s just a normal door, right? Must have some auto-open thing like that room’s door… Though I was sure that was a ghost.” The chill that ran down his spine coaxed him into compliance.

Takara, however, was cautious. By that point, he had all but proven his supernatural nature. For the moment, trust was all she could exchange for him, nearly naked under the yukata and entirely without weapons. Still, she too followed his lead.

Kurogiri spoke up again.
“If you please, look right as you come up; focus your eyes upon the bay.”

On cue, Takara and Kira turned their heads, obediently but with substantial confusion, to the ocean. At that time of night, the darkness near the horizon made the scenery they’d seen in red earlier that day impossible to discern. The barely visible glints of light riding the waves, courtesy of the city and the moon, were the only signifiers of the ocean that lay beneath the star field. Takara felt her body shudder with an even greater chill as they were fully exposed to the night wind.

From beside them, two succinct claps sounded. Then, “You may turn back now.”

Slowly, they turned around. Before them, directly in the center of the grey moonlit rooftop, lay an ancient house. Its style mimicked that of an ancient, Opium Wars era teahouse, but the pavilion seemed too luxurious for that. Though the outside was almost universally of worn, dark wood, the entrance, lined with the same symbols that lined the railings and fixtures inside The Cormorant, sported many drifting curtains of white, semi-transparent silk. So too did several open patios on the sides of the building. They rippled in the air and drew a soft glow from the moon’s rays. Paper lanterns hung from many wooden spars at the corners of the house, and glowed with the soft blue-green haze of captured fireflies. The sight was ethereal; if was an illusion, it was more than convincing. Kira feared that if he drew near and pressed his hands against the blackened wood, nothing but air would resist him.

Kurogiri and his companion were already entering the building, his beckoning gestures stringing the youngsters along. Takara consulted Kira wordlessly with a silent look. Predictably, he continued to walk forward, and she followed but the shock in him made his steps shorter. Before, when they walked, even Takara’s long stride seemed small compared to his, but now they were almost even.

They pushed through the fluctuating doors of white silk, entering a misty world. On all sides Takara and Kira could see nothing but snowy, moving fog, a bright line indicating the edge of a fabric sheet here and there, and the darkness of their host’s back before them. The rush of the breeze above the complex surrounded them with innumerable whisperings. Somewhere, Takara could hear the tubular ringing of wind chimes, or so she felt; in the midst of the quiet mix of white noise, it was difficult to be certain of anything. Somehow it felt like the white fabric parted before them and closed behind them, pushing them forward gently into the building’s interior. Soon, the familiar scent of incense hovered in front of their noses, and only got stronger. Eventually it became all pervasive and almost overly intense. Kira covered his nose, but Takara could only barely see him by that point. Silently, she moved closer, wary of getting lost in the strange corridor of silken spirits. But it was not long before the waves parted and a more bewildering sight presented itself.

They had apparently entered what was either Kurogiri’s abode, or an immense antique shop. The square, tall-ceiling room was unevenly lit, and the reason for that was clear; immediately Kira and Takara’s eyes were drawn to the ceiling. Tens, if not hundreds, of paper and glass lanterns of all colors, shapes and sizes hovered beneath the dark, wooden ceiling like stars. Each one seemed unique, with a different style and design. Some Japanese, some Chinese, some European, some boxy, some spherical, some encircled in metal, some designed to resemble fish or birds: the myriad lanterns far exceeded the number of any collection the young people could have imagined, and all looked exquisitely valuable. Spheres of muted light flickered and moved within each one, giving them a profound beauty.

Beneath the sky of lanterns was a relatively undecorated floor, with a decorative red carpet and one low, square table, displaying a few scattered items and something in a glass bottle. The walls were not quite as barren; many shelves overflowed with innumerable strange objects. But many a shelf was cast in shadow by the one above it.

“This is my shop, as well as my residence.”

Kurogiri turned around again to his awed guests, as Innocentia continued to the square table, setting down her master’s coat and her instrument. He carried a faintly proud smile.

“Do you like it? You’re quite welcome to look around.” Suddenly raising a waggling finger, he shook his head. “Ah, but I would caution you against touching something without my permission. These are only display items, but they’re still quite valuable.”

“Holy crap!” Kira exclaimed, at which the gentleman winced. His polite smile didn’t change, but it seemed forced for a fleeting moment.

“Yes, ‘Holy Crap’ indeed.”

Without pause, Kira rushed to the shelves on the side of the room. A stone mask made of chipped but still beautiful turquoise. An expertly crafted brass telescope. Tarnished silver tins full of irregular looking cigarettes. A long, white maple katana sheathed in ceremonial shirasaya style.

“Amazing… all this stuff is for sale?” His wide eyes devoured every unusual sight there was to be found.

“Well, not all of them. I need not worry about finances. So naturally, I’m free to ‘choose’ my customers with discretion. These are all precious to me, every single one. Banish the thought that I might entrust part of my prized collection to an irresponsible owner…”

Takara followed him over more slowly, examining each item. Her eyes lingered upon an intricately signed Japanese tanto knife. She wouldn’t have admitted it openly, but she found it to be as much of a work of art as any painting. It wasn’t very feminine to admire a blade for its craftsmanship and obvious sharpness, however, and she shot a glance to make sure no one had noticed her.

“You’re also a dealer in antiques. But, if it is alright for me to say, you’ve got an impressive range of time periods here… not that I’m an expert.” She eyed the cigarettes, which sat awkwardly next to an old Jomon figurine, as if one or the other were an unwelcome anachronism. It didn’t seem Kurogiri concerned himself at all with organizing the shelves, or at least didn’t do so in any discernibly comprehensible way.

Kurogiri turned to her with a bit of flourish in his suit jacket. “Yes. From my point of view, it is pointless to discriminate; any old trinket that catches my eye is worthy of display in my collection. I value uniqueness, and timelessness. It doesn’t matter to me whether it is centuries or a decade old. I see nothing but true worth.”

“I see…” Takara murmured, curiously. She turned quickly on her heels, but the words in her mouth were quickly snuffed out, oddly enough for a man as concerned with manners as Kurogiri.

“Judging from that expression of yours, I have an idea of what you’re going to ask me.” He folded his hands behind his back and paced towards the table, where he withdrew several sitting pillows. Innocentia was fiddling with something incredibly small next to the glass bottle.

Seating himself, Kurogiri motioned to the other two with a wide sweep of his arm. “Please, join us.”



Once all were seated, and Innocentia had delivered a pot filled with piping hot jasmine tea, conversation began once again.

“So,” Kurogiri lightly handled the white tea glass in his bare hand, apparently ignorant of its heat. “I am interested in one thing, first of all. Does my name strike either you as familiar?”

Kira, who had his chin folded in his grip, unexpectedly straightened his posture and nodded.
“Come to think of it, I’ve heard it somewhere before, when I first was learning about this city.”

Pleased, Kurogiri acknowledged him, drinking deeply from his glass. Takara cringed as she imagined the burning tea running down her throat.

“ You’re quite perceptive. Akitaka city is only ten years old. Are you familiar with the South Korean city of New Songdo?”

Kira only scratched his head, but Takara nodded. She had seen it in news and in geography when she was young. South Korea had begun an economic project: To build a commercially viable city, strong in business and industry and attractive to tourism, in a small span of time. Although the plan to be completed in 2015, scaled-back development resulted in it being completed in 2013. More than the completed city’s economy, the project of building New Songdo, started in 2006, was itself a strong economic stimulus for its country.

“Akitaka City was planned in 2009, when the two of you were quite young.” Kurogiri proudly pressed an open hand on his silvery tie, over his heart. “I was a member of the original project team. The amount of money I accumulated negotiating with keiretsu and construction groups, corporations to foster rapid development, as well as helping to design the city’s layout and zoning, ensured me an early retirement. Thus, I moved here, from the mainland, relocating myself for now as owner of this building, which I also designed myself.” Brushing his chin, he smirked more self-assuredly. “Its structure is somewhat unorthodox, as you have no doubt noticed, but considering my status as a member of the original team, and my continued involvement in Akitaka’s development, these are easily overlooked details.”

Kira nodded in comprehension. “Yes, that’s it. I remember reading your name in some article on city development. You must be a millionaire… no, billionaire.”

“This night just keeps getting more amazing. I almost wish it would never stop.”

Kurogiri’s ubiquitous smile turned into a subtle frown. “News regarding the tunnel-project no doubt. It was entirely too troublesome; I had to come out of semi-retirement to oppose that, but it appears my efforts were hardly worthwhile. No matter.”

Innocentia, in the meanwhile, continued to fiddle with the tiny object in her hand. The diminutive sticks and small squares of cloth were slowly taking form into something that resembled a flag. “Marcel is most certainly the key to this city’s continued prosperity and success, fortune willing.”

“Wow, I had no idea we were in the company of someone so important. To think we troubled you in this way…” Takara murmured. “Still, your generosity makes it easy for me to imagine how much you’ve contributed to Akitaka.”

She didn’t want to mention it, but she felt certain the man’s strange, multicultural decorating sense had somehow infected the entire city itself.

Kurogiri leaned slightly on one elbow, pointing with that hand to Takara. “And you’re Jin-Sei students, aren’t you? I am also that University’s first alumnus. In addition, I negotiated strongly for the linking of Japanese and foreign corporate donors to help make the college one of the most decorated in the nation within half a decade.”

He was boasting, but his light, level headed diction made it seem that pride in his work weighed very little upon his thoughts. Perhaps that man had simply so much money that it meant nothing to him to influence urban planning and private education in the city irrevocably.

“His influence must be positive; there’s no question of that. But he is a magus as well.”

Takara’s expression chilled. “While I’m very honored to meet you, Mr. Kurogiri, it goes without saying, but you’re no simple urban planner, or building owner, are you?”

Cyan eyes slid languidly from one youngster to the other. “Oh to be young again. Your concept of time is fleeting after all. But that is quite acceptable.”

Taking heed of Takara’s cold diction, Kira too seemed to grow cautious and watch Kurogiri carefully.

The smiling, squinting man sat straight, speaking directly to the pair without diverting his gaze.

“Eccentric men tend to become interested in certain flights of fancy. I simply happened to become interested in the investigation of the supernatural. The Great Cormorant is a free-standing modern miracle of Feng Shui and the Taijitu, the Supreme Ultimate Diagram. It is both a welcoming refuge and a fortress against contaminated, impure power.”

“That would explain the strange feeling I received when I came to in this building right?” Kira remarked. Kurogiri nodded gladly.

Takara smiled subtly, narrowing her eyes at Kurogiri and momentarily almost imitating his own perpetual expression. “Then, if you’re an investigator of the supernatural, you are also a practitioner?”

Kurogiri winked imperceptibly at her. “To know the arcane is to practice it.”

Innocentia looked up from her project once more and spoke in factual monotone.
“Marcel is the most accomplished independent magus in the Eastern Hemisphere.”

This provoked stilted, dry laughter once more from the pale-garbed man. The artificiality of his voice came through most strongly when he laughed.

“My dear, you overestimate me. To be flattered in this way would turn nations red, let alone my humble self. I am simply a philosopher of the esoteric arts abandoned after the era of Newton, at least by the larger world. It would be too presumptuous for me to consider myself the best, if one could even exist. ” Despite Kurogiri’s words, his face remained as pale and flawless as before. “Many years ago I studied the discipline of Taoism in my home country of China. It is roughly analogous to this country’s derivative tradition of Onmyou.”

The tanned young day worker watched his benefactor carefully. “You are a Onmyou user?” He had felt those only existed in fiction; in the old medieval period dramas he occasionally watched, those wizards of yin and yang were often heroes, or villains, who could commune with the invisible gods and ayakashi of the world. However, Kira’s mind was flexible, as the events of that night showed. Somehow, he couldn’t feel himself rejecting even the impossible when it reared its head in front of him.

“Ha ha, oh please. I was not satisfied with one discipline of magic, so I did what was natural.”

Kira took a cautious sip from his tea. Most of what they were talking about seemed beyond him. He decided to sort out the specifics of the new “magecraft world” he had entered later.

Takara didn’t so much as touch hers. “You studied more than one?” From what her aunt had described to her, most organizations of magic users suffered from severe xenophobia and arrogance, and few would accept an outsider to their studies into their number. It was inconceivable, perhaps even outright impossible, for a magus from outside of the officially recognized lineages, to achieve recognition and status in the Mages Association. Europe was littered with only loosely affiliated magic groups known as the Sea of Estray.

Kurogiri’s smile bared slightly more of his teeth than before. “I studied all of them.”

His red-eyed assistant suddenly gave him a perplexing look. To Kira it seemed as though she was entranced, but to Takara, it seemed almost as if the girl was scolding the man even in his superior age.

In response to this, Kurogiri cleared his throat and corrected himself. “Most of them, I suppose. But this fusion of traditions I have conceived has allowed me access to the many treasures that line my coffers in this lowly shack.”

The young daughter of two supernaturally aware prodigies focused her suspicious glare on the dissembling man. “This girl is a homunculus too, isn’t she? Einzbern?”

“Home-On-Cross?” She could nearly see a question mark appear out of thin air over Kira’s head.

Innocentia nodded solemnly. “Our honored guest is indeed correct. This body is the 22nd masterpiece of Jubstacheit von Einzbern, given to Marcel as a gift for his provisionary assistance.”

Her suspicions were finally confirmed. Just as “Sempai” had been before, the white doll that sat calmly piecing together a tiny wooden object was one of the magically gifted artificial humans the ancient clan of magi excelled in creating. The soft, pale skin and hair, and sanguine eyes had been enough of a giveaway on their own, but everything had solidified: she now knew why Innocentia’s presence unnerved her. Within her heart it was most likely impossible for her to reconcile herself with any homunculi again, after what Emiya did. She knew it was illogical, but the acrid feeling coursing through her could have been nothing but contempt.

Kurogiri seemed to perceive that negative emotion. “She is a highly loyal and valuable servant of mine. Quite charming in friendship as well.”

Something in his voice made Takara want to retch. She leaned forward over the table.
“Then that man who attacked us; was he one of your servants as well?” Asking directly, the mistrust within her had taken over any vestige of politeness she had attempted to observe before.

Kurogiri stopped smiling, placing an extended index finger to his chin. He glanced upwards to his host of firefly lanterns. “Hm, I wonder…”

His deliberation marked the tightening of Takara’s hands, but she said nothing.

“He was a magi. Or was he? He was certainly an alchemist, considering the toxin he developed would have required a substantial amount of apothecary skill. Delivered on a silver needle…” Kurogiri grinned widely again in recognition. “Aaah... How amusing.”

“What is amusing? That man killed-” His irreverent attitude was infuriating to Takara. Kurogiri clearly weighed the risk to Kira’s life and those of innocents lightly.

“Sorry. I know this is quite personal to you all but I’m afraid I don’t know.”

“What?!” Kira nearly fell over.

“I have a terrifically bad memory. When you’ve lived as long as I have, you tend to forget unimportant details.”

“Unimportant details?”

“In any case, I had exerted my influence over Akitaka’s original city planning, as well as the location of this city on the old sacred ground of ancient times, specifically to ward against these kinds of supernaturally related crimes. To both of you I extend my deepest apologies; needless to say, I feel at least somewhat responsible for your troubles.”

Kira was taken aback. His hand crept to the exposed scar on his chest.
“…but you didn’t do anything wrong. And moreover, you helped us. Even if you say you’re responsible, I wouldn’t be a man if I didn’t thank you.”

Although Takara felt a cool burning of hostility towards the suspicious man, she would not disagree with Kira’s strong feeling of gratitude. For a moment, the caution she had experienced seemed irrational even to her.

Kira glanced downwards. The enormous scar that marked his chest would be his constant companion from that night onward.
“Did you use this supernatural power to heal me?”

Kurogiri’s eyes lit up. Not literally, though his brilliant gaze seemed almost to suggest that they could, but nevertheless, he was galvanized. “Ah! Exactly the topic of conversation I was stabbing at.” Kurogiri pointed at Kira, then dragged his finger through the air to gesture to Takara. Innocentia’s eyes slowly followed his finger with only passing interest.

“When Innocentia found you and determined your injuries could not be healed by conventional hospital care, she transported you here, where I examined your bodies.”

Takara folded her arms slightly more over herself.

“Conventional healing magic does not function in Akitaka. In fact, most magic does not function at all. However, I am quite used to conducting my research here, and it provides no barrier to me.” A hint of arrogance entered his voice. “That however was not enough for Kira. The venom of your assailant carried with it a corrosive that disintegrated his heart and many of the major arteries of his torso, while he was still alive.”

Kurogiri’s tone seemed to say “Ouch, it hurts even to say it.”

“My first inclination was to attempt the Dr. Bian treatment. The rationale was that if I relocated Kira’s heart into your more magically receptive body, repairs might still be possible. However, halfway through I realized that, erh, your hearts might not be compatible, so switching them would have probably caused more complications than could be realistically corrected.”

Takara nearly squeaked in alarm. “’Halfway through!?’”
“That explains his scar…”

Kira looked as if on the verge of shaking to pieces. “S-so I was right! You were going to steal my organs!”

Kurogiri shook his head. “Mr. Kaede, you don’t seem to realize that you had very little left of an organ to steal.”

“Oh.”

Brushing his chin, he sighed. “After some deliberation, I settled upon using an artificial replacement. The ingredients and components that went into its construction cost perhaps somewhere around 10,000,000 yen, so I felt it was roughly equivalent in value. Not a bad exchange, I must say.”

There was a low bump from Kira’s side of the table as he resisted the impulse to leap to his feet, hitting his knee. “Ten-“
He cut himself off and thought the rest.
“Ten million yen!? I have a ten million yen heart!?”

The philosopher of the strange smiled in amusement at Kira’s reaction. The poor boy couldn’t even imagine a million, let alone ten million yen. And something artificial now beat within his chest; he would not have been aware of its existence, or that it was different save for Kurogiri’s explanation. There was no lasting pain, and his body felt as healthy as ever. The man was a miracle worker as well as frighteningly generous. The kind of magnanimous behavior Kurogiri demonstrated, from Kira’s point of view, was reckless bordering on totally insane.

“Don’t act so surprised. Money can be recovered; I have plenty of time to earn that fortune back. An alchemical heart is valuable, but not irreplaceable.” Despite his words, Kurogiri somehow seemed irritated.

“B-but, this goes beyond simply debt here!” Kira stammered. “I’m just a gardener-I was just a gardener. I appreciate that you saved my life.” He held an open hand before him. “But I mean-what am I talking about?” Kira glanced sideways. It seemed he was regressing into his own out-loud monologue… “I should be just happy to be alive, but that guy spent tons of money, but human life can’t be measured in money can it, yet organs can and are, but he’s got no reason to help me, and he doesn’t know me, so now I feel guilty and...”

His words trailed off into indistinct muttering, prompting Takara to continue in the confused young man’s place.
“Thank you for saving his life.” She managed to smile in warm gratitude, before turning to her “ally.”

“Come on, Kira, didn’t you say you don’t need a reason to help someone?”
In truth she did not take that statement at face value, but she wasn’t cynical enough to deny Kira such a charming belief, for its simplistic appeal invited her idealism as well.

“It is as she says… or you said, apparently.” Kurogiri crossed his arms on the table. “Think nothing of it. I did it on a whim.”

“He does many things on a whim.” Innocentia spoke again, slightly quieter than before.

The bespectacled man gave her a rather chiding glance but she looked away, still lacking expression, as if she said nothing at all.
“Ahem, as I was saying, I replaced your heart with one my own specialty alchemical organs. Don’t misunderstand this as hefting a yoke of debt upon your shoulders.”

He did, however, smirk as he said the next few words. Kurogiri pronounced everything as deliberately as possible, with exacting precision.
“However, your wallet was rather slim.”

Kira blinked. “Are you suggesting that I work for you?”

Another laugh. “Young man, your poverty isn't all I noticed. I am very generous. Besides, you two are quite interesting specimens.”

Takara grew guarded once more. “What kind of employment is this? You’re offering this to me too?”

With a muted “Tch, the tea has grown cold,” as if it was a common experience for the man, Kurogiri’s diverted attention returned to her.

“Oh the occasional odd job. My needs are not so extensive as to interfere with your studies; far be it from me to damage your ‘chance for a bright future.’” Trace sarcasm flowed through his comment. “I shall need extra hands, or I should say, Innocentia will, when I make my monthly trip abroad. While I am away, it typically falls to her to maintain the complex in my absence, handle paperwork, answer phones, all those dreadfully boring things.” He waved his hand dismissively as if the matters of a normal landlord had no significance to him, and that the “papers” were merely blank leafs. “You wouldn’t be doing anything special: simple janitorial work, cleaning, vacuuming, those sorts of trivialities.”

Kira pressed an extended thumb against his chest. “Leave it to me. I’m fine with any amount of hours. It’s kind of bad for a young girl that age to be working anyways…” He noted, “The, uh, illegal kind of bad. It might be better if I did all her work.”

Innocentia turned an impassive face to him. “That is not necessary. I alone am enough. Your sentiment is appreciated however.”

“Uh, yeah. Well, anyways, you said ‘odd jobs.’ Keeping your little niece, or sister, or… whatever company one time every month isn’t all we’re doing, right?”

Takara moved to Kira. “She’s-“

“I am his belonging.” Innocentia intoned. Stated calmly and without hesitation, all of her being was sold to the strange white-dressed man in an instant. Kira was noticeably disturbed, but said no more.

Kurogiri’s smile parted. “Regarding those, I believe it would be best to leave that for another time. Mr. Aozaki seems drained.”

Kira looked to the side. Although her eyes were open, Takara’s shaded gaze was a clear sign of her exhaustion. Moreover, she was beginning to shiver. Strange, then, that he hadn’t felt the chill as strongly as her.

“Sorry… it’s been a long night.” Takara answered, though she did show some minor astonishment. “*Mr.* Aozaki?” Perhaps she was not the one ready to nod off.

Kurogiri pushed aside his now cold and empty cup. Innocentia’s hand, almost as white as the porcelain, gathered it back with the others to their tray.

“Come now, there’s no need to push yourselves.” Both raised from their seats, the man gesturing for Takara and Kira to follow. “Akitaka is an exceptionally safe city. The influence of even organized crime typical of our country like the Yakuza is ‘small time.’ However, for your two, the world outside this building for the duration of the night is the same as enemy territory. That man is still at large.”

Innocentia disappeared briefly into a side room, returning empty-handed. “Marcel.”

Kurogiri nodded to her. “Our little apartment building is still without tenants. If it would please you, I strongly encourage you two to become our first. This city is built upon sacred ground, and my building is a “fortress” in itself. No harm will come to you as long as you reside here.”

The host began to lead them to the hall of silk once more. “Innocentia will direct you to our display room. It’s only partially furnished, but perhaps you will find it to your liking.”

“You’re too kind.” Takara murmured. As they were guided out, she looked over her shoulder, and the man in white saw them off, a calm smile lining his face, as always. Kurogiri’s narrowed eyes seemed to phase through her and in turn concealed within them wonder like frozen gems, aquamarine to Innocentia’s ruby.



As before, the door to the display room opened without Innocentia even so much as grasping the lever. The diminutive servant stepped aside silently. Not even once had she opened her mouth to speak after they had left Kurogiri’s home on the roof. The distance between Innocentia and that man seemed to sap the voice from her.

“Perhaps she doesn’t like to talk much to people besides Kurogiri.” Takara wondered as she slid past her, into the room.

Following close behind, Kira jumped as the spectral voice materialized behind him.

“The room is still only partially furnished… I will be in the parlor at the lobby.” Innocentia stated in monotone. “If there is any way in which I can minister to your comfort, do not hesitate to ask… Marcel has instructed me so.”

Kira looked to her, markings of curiosity upon his face.
“Sorry if it’s rude, but I was wondering about something.”

Innocentia raised her chin and locked eyes with him unflinchingly, awaiting his question with no response to make the moment any less awkward.

“Why do you call that guy… I mean, Mr. Kurogiri… ‘Marcel?’”

“I know Master as Marcel. Today he is Kurogiri. Yesterday he was Marcel.” Her voice was faint enough to qualify as a whisper.

The unsatisfying answer nevertheless silenced Kira for the moment. Without further business, Innocentia departed the room, black dress and ribbon-like hair fluttering behind her. The door closed after, audibly harder than before. The two guests were alone once more, and the building’s thickening silence was as if they had never been otherwise since their arrival.

“Wow… they’re certainly ‘unique.’” The silence was broken by Kira’s muttering.

Inside the display room, the bare skeleton of a living space was set up. A pyramid of cardboard boxes, which were assumed to contain unassembled furniture, lay untouched in a corner. If the chamber had been set up as an example of a fully prepared apartment, no one had made any effort to make it presentable. Cormorant “landlord” clearly paid as little heed to the offices of his career as possible. The cityscape painted the room in a dim azure, its walls a tinted pearl. A small square table, made of gray metal, sat in the center of the room. One corner of the apartment featured a partially enclosed kitchenette, and nearby was a door to the bathroom. The later two features had been in their previously empty room, Kira realized, but the dim lighting and lack of actual furniture had made it largely impossible for him to notice upon first arriving there.
Takara opened the closet, and frowned. There was only one futon.

“You seem a lot more energetic now that we’re down here.”
Her companion, blissfully ignorant of the thoughts going through her mind, spoke up again. She pushed the futon back into its storage space hastily.

“It was mostly an act. I’m tired, true, but I mostly just wanted to talk to you in private.” Takara closed the closet, leaning her back against its door. She folded her arms, her posture giving off an impression of boldness, or confidence, that she might not have felt otherwise. “You trust him, don’t you?”

Kira laughed. “Well, it’s not like I have much of a choice. I’m alive, and there’s a scar on my chest. A lot of information has rushed into my head this night, and I guess I’m still recovering.” Blinking at Takara, his expression grew questioning. “Are you saying I should be afraid of ‘Mr. White’?”

“Well, I’m familiar with ‘this world’ you’ve entered. I always have been.” Her voice grew quiet. “My Aunt is a witch as well, but besides her, my experiences meeting them haven’t always been positive.” Kira could see her fingers tighten, enough that he thought that even in the pale light, the blood visibly rushed to the chilled extremities. “They’re selfish people, Magi.”

“I could tell that much. The guy is clearly full of himself.” Kira stated, silently thinking to himself: “Your Aunt is a witch? What’s next?!”

“But he’s not unlikable. Four-Eyes did good things for this city. He’s famous. It’s not as if I had a choice. I couldn’t just come back from the dead in the nick of time and say ‘Sorry sir, but it would be better if you didn’t replace my melting organs with new ones; I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.’ What point is there in suspecting Kurogiri?”

“He gives me the creeps. Moreover, I already am unable to just trust him, right off the bat. It’s inevitable that I’m going to feel suspicious of that man.”

“Independent magi are people who live outside of society, or live within it and just feel contempt for its rules, because they think they see beyond them. Even my Aunt, though I love her very much, is one of these people. She can’t associate with normal people, and they can’t associate with her. These are people who are forced by their obscure power to be loners, hermits, or sociopaths. Do you understand?”

He shook his head. The shaggy threads of black rustled and obscured his eyes momentarily. “It’s no good for me to worry about it. He saved my life. Besides, I owe him. I’m not someone who is willing to leave debts unresolved. If he did what he says he did, then…” His voice trailed off.

“But, he’s now been given the opportunity to control you. I... I don’t know why he would; someone like you wouldn’t be of any use to him, but…”

Takara’s eyes drew to the dreadful scar on Kira’s chest. By that man’s words, some unnatural, false piece of a human throbbed within him, sustaining him. She knew that Kira had become beholden to Kurogiri. The heart inside of the boy was the enigmatic researcher’s property, though he had made light of it. Understanding this, even someone as presumptuous as Kira nevertheless had a sense of honor that made a supposedly free choice more akin to compulsion.

“Kira will be manipulated.”

Like an ignorant dog being adjusted to the taste of flesh, Kira would become a slave of the magus, or worse. Was it paranoid of her to feel that way? With the alchemical heart, Kira had become more than a human being. He was augmented, or perhaps a ‘container.’ Perhaps he had a potential that Takara could not see, but Kurogiri was well aware of it.

“No, he doesn’t deserve that. Even if he’s a crude boy and a jerk, it shouldn’t have happened this way to him.”

Takara and Kira, who both dipped into the esoteric brew of the night and imbibed its mystifying contents, had briefly attained a level of existence that the normal people who walked the daylight streets never contacted. But she felt fully contaminated. It had stained her clothes and merged with her skin. More accurately, it had always been there.

“It’s too unfair. What if he becomes like Mother?”

The belief that she ever had the chance to unobtrusively slip through college with underwhelming academic success and limited popularity, simply because she understood the supernatural world and was therefore able to evade it, was sophistry. Kira, however, was still salvageable. Kurogiri had mercifully preserved his life, and that was an act worthy of praise. That heart would not last forever, but forever pin his heart to the otherworldly. There would be no refuge for the naïve, positive boy.

“It’s wrong.”

“’Wrong’?”

“It’s wrong, Kira. He was right in saving you, but if Kurogiri isn’t the altruist he says he is, you’re in far greater danger. He’s made you into a ‘container’ for that item, and there’s nothing to stop him from getting it back someday.”

Kira frowned at her. “I understand why you’re worried, but that’s meaningless isn’t it? It’s happened. This scar won’t go away any time soon.”

His mention of it stabbed her. Takara’s head ached when her eyes set upon the scar. The image provoked a painful sense of regret within her.

“The heart you have now isn’t real. Kurogiri is probably the only one who knows how to maintain it. If only you weren’t put into this situation.”

“I told you to stop talking about that!” His voice surrounded her, but she was unmoved.

“It’s not that easy! Kurogiri might not feel anything over the burden we placed upon you, but I…”

The scattered thoughts in her mind began to accumulate into one, iron form. Her doubts before had been but metal sand, pivotal in the sharpening of her final resolve. Kira would never recognize it. He recklessly decided on his own to help her. Naturally, there was no reason for Takara not to reciprocate.

She stared directly into his eyes. There was no softness or sympathy there, but there was an incredible maturity Kira couldn’t even begin to understand.

“I’ll take responsibility for making you this way. As long as I’m here, you’ll never become his belonging.”