A/N: In this story, Koichi dies at the hospital at the end of the season. This picks up immediately after.
Will use English dub names.
It is when his mother reaches out to touch his bandanna and says, "Koichi, what an unusual look," that Koji realizes his brother does not have to be dead.
To see her again is like viewing a mirror to the past, distorted by some artist's particularly cruel scale of time. She looks aged, and aged unduly. Koichi told him, in the digital world, that their mother had worked hard to raise him alone. Now Koji realizes the truth in this statement. Their mother has gray hairs, a bent back. Lines of worry wrinkle her face. She is thirty-five years old.
And here is Koji, to tell her that her son is dead.
"I brought you flowers," he says, stalling for time.
"Oh! How sweet – but, where have you been?" asks the mother he has not seen in nine years. "Dinner is getting cold. You know we always eat at 5:30 sharp."
"I – I'm sorry. I missed a train."
"Well, call next time." She folds a napkin, then tucks away a strand of silver hair. "Come, eat."
Mute, Koji does.
This is not how he imagined their first meeting, either during his time in the digital world or more recently, in the hospital, weeping over his brother's broken body. The brother he has known for months, and for minutes. How can he explain his shared grief, his understanding, to this woman?
Instead, he eats in silence, and winces at the clatter of every cup.
Mother doesn't seem to notice. She smiles when he looks her way, but the smile dims when he does not. She is tired. They are both tired.
A knock comes at the door.
Mother moves to stand, but Koji shakes his head. "I'll answer," he insists, and she smiles tiredly, again, and doesn't protest.
Koji turns his back on her, trying to look confident, and moves through this unfamiliar house doing his best not to seem unnerved. He finds the front door and opens it to see an officer standing there. The man has a solemn, business-like aspect to his stance that breaks as he gets a look at Koji.
"I - " The man clears his throat. "Excuse me – may I ask your name?"
Koji does not have to think.
"Koichi Kimura."
The officer looks plainly baffled. He looks down at a few files in his hand, then flips one open. He squints up at Koji with plain disbelief.
"You are," the man agrees, plainly confused by this fact. "Excuse me, but were you at the Shibuya Train Terminal earlier today?"
"Yes. Someone stole my phone and wallet there."
"Ah! That might explain it." The man looks relieved to have a sensible answer. Koji's heart clenches as he realizes what he is doing – branding Koichi as a nameless thief. But his brother would understand. "Well, I'll arrange for you to have those picked up... I apologize for the confusion."
"Of course," Koji says, and does not add that the officer has not even said why he came by in the first place.
When he goes back inside, his mother looks up, and asks, "Who was at the door?"
Koji replies, "No one important."
Koji spends awhile puttering around the quiet areas of the house, watching his mother. It is hard not to stare. He tries not to look obvious. He picks up a book, and pretends to leaf through it when she looks at him.
Koichi had seemed reserved, kind, shy. This should not be unusual behavior. But it is hard to tell. Koji had known him only in death.
Finally he excuses himself, claiming exhaustion. Mother nods absently, and he turns around, hesitantly, to look for Koichi's room.
When he steps through the door, a wave of nostalgia hits him so fiercely that Koji has to close the door behind him, quickly, to be sure that he is alone when he falls shuddering to the ground.
There is something horrible, hollowly familiar in the whole room. The place has all the clutter that might be expected of a young boy, but Koji can see his brother's personality peering through the scattered clothes and miscellanea. Books and notebooks are strewn over the floor next to a chair – did Koichi like reading? Writing? Did he hate school, or love it? Koji hasn't given a thought as to how he will balance attending two schools. He will manage that, too, he decides suddenly.
There is a biwa in one corner of the room. Koichi had never mentioned playing.
Koji runs his fingers over the walls, the dog-eared books, the worn desk. No dust. Of course not. Of course not. Everything is awaiting Koichi's return, but Koichi...
Not bothering to undress, Koji sags onto the bed, shaping one hand into a fist and curling one an over his face against the assaulting scent that rises from the sheets. Tears prick unwillingly from his eyes, but he can't make a sound; this, too, must be kept hidden.
He turns the lights off, when he finally tries to sleep, but leaves on one small lamp; and it is this he watches, until the light sears into his eyelids, as he falls into an uneasy rest.
The next day, Koji goes to his father's house. Emi, his stepmother, is at the window when he approaches, and comes out to meet him at the stoop.
"Koji!" She exclaim, relieved. "I'm so glad you're alright - "
"Alright?" Koji asks.
Suddenly, in a rush, he remembers. Yesterday was her and his father's third wedding anniversary. He intended to give her flowers. They went, instead, to his biological mother – an intended mourning gift which he'd thought Emi would not begrudge her.
Today, he has nothing.
Emi's words trail off, awkwardly, and she is left staring at him. A small touch of red appears in her cheeks. They parted uncomfortably, Koji remembers. His father had remonstrated Koji for his distance, much to Emi's embarrassment. He could still bridge the gap, though, even without flowers. Could just explain that he accepts Emi, and -
"Koji?"
Minamoto Juro follows behind his wife, taking a protective stance behind her left shoulder. His countenance exudes disappointment and distance with the situation. He has already assessed Koji, and decided upon his failings.
It makes Koji angry.
"You shouldn't worry your mother like this, Koji," says his father coolly.
"Oh, Juro, don't - "
And Koji, all thoughts of reconciliation forgotten, shoulders past them and walks inside, down the hall, and into his room.
It seems just as cold, and just as alien as his brother's.
Koji remembers, as though from a dream, that before his trip to the digital world he had been accustomed to leaving the house frequently enough. He does not know what Koichi's habits were, but he keeps telling his mother that he is going for walks, and she never says anything.
He falls into a routine, and it comes with disturbing ease. His mother, he learns, leaves for work early and has a long commute. She returns late – very late, when it is already dark. Koichi must have been accustomed to long periods alone, he thinks. But for Koji, this is convenient.
He is sure to see his mother away in the morning, which she does not seem to find strange. Then, when she is gone, he takes his cellphone and Koichi's as well – for this is the phone his mother will call, if she wants to talk to him – and he leaves quickly, taking a bus across town to his father's house. He gets home before his father and stepmother even wake, in time to join his smiling, oblivious family for breakfast.
Either his father or Emi are frequently around, but Koji knows how much autonomy he has at his own home, at least. It is not strange for him to vanish for long periods of the day, especially now, when he is thought to be bitter about his father's second marriage. No one says anything if he is not around, the one day Mother has a leave-day from work, or if he absconds to his 'room' every night right after dinner, and actually slides out his window to sprint across town and go back to Mother's before she can get home.
It is, however, exhausting.
Sometimes, Koji make an excuse for why he might be gone at night. He is at the midnight premiere of a movie, or he might be staying late at an internet cafe – an excuse that gains him puzzled glances, as he has never been interested in computers, games, or other materials, but this at least provides a ready explanation for his absence that does not require any collaboration. His father seems mostly relieved that he doesn't cause a fuss; Emi seems concerned with his distance, but reluctant to push him. And Mother, though she gives him strained, worried glances, has larger concerns than how Koichi spends his free time. "Be safe," she says.
Other times, even when he tries, Koji finds he can't sleep at all. He slips out the window with his katana and does katas in the yard. Even under the new moon, when the clouds hang thick and heavy and blot out the stars, the pitted metal of his blade gleams bright and silver under his eyes. He looks, and the world rings with focus, shivering into a clarity possibly even outmatched by the day. Sometimes, he does not think he needs to sleep at all – that he could stay here, wandering through the dusk, or in the twilight hours of the rising and setting sun, and gain energy from the darkness.
And when this thought occurs to him – this dangerous, niggling thought – he slips back inside, switches on all his lamps, and stares wide-eyed at the wall, wishing for a sleep that he knows will never come.
This persists for a few weeks, and Koji tells himself, yes, he can do this. He can do this. School will be difficult, he's still planning the logistics of that, but – this is working. He can do this.
Then, one day, while he's sprinting from his father's house to his mother's, a familiar shape steps into his path. Koji skids to a halt, and it feels like the world is crashing down around him, his comfortable numbness shattered.
What -
"Koji!"
"Takuya?"
Kanbara Takuya frowns at him. "Where have you been, Koji? I haven't heard from you since we've returned from the digital world."
"I - "
"In fact," Takuya continues, "None of us have heard from you – what gives?"
Koji takes a step back. "I – I don't have time for this."
Takuya crosses his arms. "Really."
Clenching his fists, Koji stiffens. He moves as if to stalk past the other boy, but Takuya shifts, blocking his way.
"Oh, no! I've seen that look before. Come on, Koji - "
"Out of my way, Takuya."
"Is this about Koichi?"
"Out. Of. My. Way."
Takuya shakes his head. "You can't just shut us out like this, Koji."
"I'm not trying to."
"I thought we were past this! You don't have to do everything alone anymore. We're a team. If somethings bothering you - "
"It's not that, it's just –" Koji's mind races. "I haven't seen my family in so long. I just need – I need some time with them. To figure things out. After..."
Koji stops. His voice cracks on the lie, half-wrought details crumbling over his tongue. Takuya's concern shines from his eyes. Clenching his jaw, Koji twists away -
And then Takuya is reaching out, touching his arm, his shoulder. "Hey, of course you do," he says, surprisingly soft. "But you just – you don't haveto be alone, okay?"
"I know."
"Alright. Alright. Whatever works, Koji." Takuya looks uncertain. "I mean, if you really - "
"Thank you, Takuya," Koji stresses. "Look, I really need to go. Okay?"
"...Okay, but, really, you should - "
"Talk to you, sure, later."
And, with a brief wave, Koji ducks his head and keeps moving.
They both know it'll be a long time before they speak again.
Interlude of Wind
"This day couldn't be better," Zoe decides. "It's so beautiful right now, just look!"
Zoe's mother, Joruri, smiles. "A perfect day for some mother-daughter shopping," she says. "Why don't you tell me if you see any place interesting?"
Zoe nods cheerfully.
Her father has begged off the excursion, which Zoe thinks is a little unfair, because Joruri accompanied the other two during a hiking trip just a few weeks ago even though she hates physical activities with a passion. But the woman, when Zoe had asked, had only laughed off her husband's absence. "Men can be silly, dear. They can have the strangest ideas about masculine pride. More spending money for us, yes?"
And, well, Zoe can hardly argue with that.
So the two walk around, inspecting store windows and enjoying the early autumn air. Zoe separates from her mother briefly to purchase a lovely, sleek gray scarf; when she returns, her mother is examining a pair of hair clasps in the shape of silver butterflies.
"Those are lovely, Mamma."
"Yes... I'm not sure I would wear them, though."
"Then why...?"
"Oh, they just make me think of you, actually."
"Me?"
Joruri smiles a little. "Beautiful like my beautiful daughter! Why not?" She taps Zoe on the cheek. "Let's try another store.
When they leave, burdened by now with a few bags, wind is whistling down the road, whipping brusquely at their clothes and threatening to tear away their prizes. Zoe clutches her purchases tighter.
"I wonder if there's a storm coming," her mother says.
"I don't think so... But it is a little dark," Zoe adds. "Maybe we should be getting back."
Joruri, knowing Zoe's feelings about the dark, agrees.
Hooking their free arms, the two struggle against the wind and begin to walk along the sidewalk. But suddenly a gust of air buffets the two, and Zoe sees her new scarf come falling out of her bag, tumbling across the dirty pavement into the road.
"Oh no!" Without thinking, Zoe detaches from her mother's arm, drops her bag, and jumps after the scarf.
"Zoe!"
The stupidity of this move hits Zoe in an instant – right as a blaring car horn cuts through the air, and she looks up into the lights of an incoming car.
Gasping, Zoe turns back toward the road – but in doing so she stumbles and falls backward. She glimpses her mother's stricken face as she falls, knowing that in a second the car will hit, and -
- and then she is being pushed back, back, a broad sweep of motion, and she is on the opposite sidewalk, the car passing harmlessly by. Joruri is staring at her, relieved and stunned from across the street, and Zoe -
I couldn't have fallen that far, she thinks. I couldn't, I couldn't...
Her heart pounds in her chest. A gust of wind pushes the hair back from her face, and makes the roar of blood in her ears seem deafening.
When it's safe, Joruri rushes across the road, clasps Zoe to her chest, and hugs her tightly. "Oh, Zoe! Are you alright? I thought you were gone... How did you move so quickly? I saw you fall, and then..."
Behind Jururi, a pile of leaves spins and swirls into a small spiral, falters, and lets the leaves scatter again.
"I guess you didn't see everything that happened," Zoe says finally.
"It was frightening," Joruri agrees.
Frightening. Very frightening. Zoe reaches into her pocket, touching the slim outline of a very normal purple and pink cell phone.
She swears, for a moment, that it feels warm under her fingers.
"Koichi," Mother calls, and Koji turns his head automatically, now. During his time in the digital world, he trained himself not to react when the others would use the so-similar name of his brother; now the name is his, also, and he does not even think.
"Yes?"
"There is a letter for you, from your old art tutor," she says, and hands it to him.
Art tutor?
"Ms. Arita is so kind," Mother says. "I wish we still had money for lessons. I never see you practice anymore, Koichi."
"Oh," Koji says. "It's just, uh, I'm not that good..."
"Nonsense! And how will get better, if you don't practice?" Smilingly, she taps him on the side of the head. "My Koichi, saying you have no skill! Don't lie to your mother, now."
Koji doesn't know what to say.
"Um, sorry," he mumbles finally.
She laughs at him.
Koji takes the letter and moves away to read it.
Dear Koichi,
I apologize for neglecting to write for such a long while. I hope you have been doing well? Your last sketches reached me and were well-received by your old classmates. I have attached their comments, and an etching Kumi Goto asked I pass on to you.
We have missed you here, Koichi, though I understand the circumstances of your removal. Still, I ask that you do not be reluctant to keep up this correspondence. The contents of your latest letter disturbed me.
I am sure that fortune shall change soon. My best wishes to your mother. Please, take care of yourself. I look forward to hearing from you again soon.
-Arita Umeko
What disturbing content did Koichi send? Why would Koichi talk so frequently with his old teacher? An artist... Koichi had never mentioned that, either.
There is a lot, Koji is finding, that Koichi never mentioned.
Quietly, Koji puts aside the letter, then takes up the small slip of paper that came with it.
The etching that Ms. Arita spoke of, from 'Kumi Goto', shows half the face of a man sunk in shadow. His eye is black coal, but burns fiercely from the weathered land of his face. His mouth twists in a low sneer, his skin pitted with hollow pores and dank sweat. There is a wildness, something desperate and savage, to his expression. But his eye – his eye seems so familiar -
Koji puts the paper, and the letter, back in the broken envelope. He goes to Koichi's room, leaves the envelope on his – no, Koichi's, he reminds himself – bed, and roots around the room until he find a large box in the dresser. Opening it, he finds a dozen black pencils of different sizes, black pens, thick drawing-paper...
Another thing to learn, he thinks.
This, too, is worth it.
Minamoto Juro seems to have little interest in where his son disappears to each day, but this is not the same as saying he does not care. "You could make an effort," he says often. "You could try to be around more. To be a part of this family."
Koji could. He has tried, though Juro does not know it. And he thinks, this, does this qualify as you making an effort, Dad?
So he says nothing.
Koji draws long and often at his mother's house, hidden away in his room. Sometimes he goes out in the yard, shielding the paper if his mother walks by so she can't see his infantile attempts. She does not seem to find this strange.
Koichi seems like the type to draw natural scenes, flowers and animals and skylines, the beauty in a frozen drop of water or a cloudy day. So Koji does this, too, sweeping his pencil over the paper in uneven strokes that slowly grow more frustrated. He breaks a few pencils, the first days, and ruins paper by piercing the sheets with holes born of impatience. But he learns, and as his lines grow more clean his patience grows, too, and his appreciation.
Sometimes, too, in the corners of the pages he writes in styled kanji, Koichi, Koichi, Koichi, and tells himself he is practicing his signature for his pictures.
It feels more, though, like he is simply signing his name.
"Hey, hey. You look familiar."
Koji turns around.
He is walking through the streets between his two lives. The girl is about his own age. He is certain he has never seen her before in his life.
"I'm Sanda Hanae."
"Sorry. I don't think so.
"Maybe we went to school together," she says. "Sendagaya Elementary?"
Koji pauses. "I don't think so," he repeats.
"You don't think?"
"I – definitely not," he says. "Excuse me..."
One day, Koji casually brings out the biwa he has practiced on so long. It is hard to judge what Koichi's skill might have been, but Koji has mastered a set of scales and a short, simple song, so on the hope that Mother does not make any requests he sits down in the main room and plays a short piece, hands moving flawlessly over the instrument's clean strings.
He hopes he is not making even more of an insult of Koichi's memory.
When he finishes he looks up, heart pounding, and finds that his mother is staring at him in amazement. "Koichi," she says. "Your grandmother gave you that old thing years ago. When did you learn to play?"
"Oh!"
Emi winces, touching her side as Koji helps her set down the last of the grocery-bags. "Ah, look at me, getting winded just walking around. I don't get out enough..."
Koji hums noncommittally. He turns around.
"Koji..."
He stops.
"Please, talk to me. I know things are hard between us, but I thought they were getting better... I don't want to pressure you, really. But I – I would love to at least be your friend, if you'd let me. Maybe we could just talk...?"
Koji looks at her.
Turns his head.
"I'm sorry. Maybe some other time."
He walks to his room, and has to turn up his music to pretend that he doesn't hear the soft, restrained sound of weeping through the thin old walls.
But unfortunately, he does – for once – have other matters to attend to.
Specifically, the logistics of attending two schools at once, without letting any of his three parents notice.
Trying to use an illness as an excuse will likely be his only option – but that will require doctor's confirmation, and discussions between the administration and his parents. He is uncertain how to get around these issues. Then, an idea hits him. A dangerous idea.
Koji will be entering lower secondary school this year. It occurs to him that none of his teachers at this new school – or Koichi's new school – will have any idea what his parent's look like.
Theoretically, if he can find any random adults to stand-in for his parents and go along with his story...
Koji sighs. This is crazy.
What if his parents ever need to talk to his teachers themselves? It could all fall apart so easily, but...
It's my only chance.
Koji is almost disappointed by how not suspicious the apparently dangerous parts of Ueno are. This, the internet assures him, is one of the most dangerous cities in Japan.
...It occurs to him somewhat belatedly that the internet may not, actually, be the best way to find yourself criminal help.
(Still, it only takes about two hours for him to find a few older prostitutes – male and female – who are happy to pose as his parents for a few hours every now and then. So that's something, at least.)
Koji's hand is cramped and aching when he greets his mother, who looks weary after a long day of work. He brushes pencil shaving from one hand, absently. He is one step closer to the perfect disguise. "Would you like to see one of my pictures, Mom?"
Perhaps he should have said sketches, or pieces, or something else fancy? He does not feel like an artist, really. But his mother doesn't seem suspicious. She brightens at the thought, shedding her coat. "I'd love to, dear."
Smiling, he retrieves the one he has in mind.
When he returns, she stares at it for awhile in silence.
"...Is... is something wrong?"
"I – no! No, it's wonderful, I just..."
The picture is something he had to sketch inside – a tree being swept back by furious winds in the midst of a storm. He's still not very good, he thinks – his eyes catch the shaky lines, the places where he simply can't figure out the shading - but he practices every day, trying to learn new techniques.
"What is it?"
"It's just – well, you've always drawn people, in the past, and such peaceful people... It's so different is all. Well done, but different." She looks up at Koji, smiling, but this falters at the look on his face. "It... it really is good, dear, to change things now and again..."
"Change," Koji echoes. "Yeah." He takes the paper back, and goes upstairs.
Interlude of Thunder
"...and in other news, there has been a strange concentration of storms around Tokyo that has been leaving meteorologists baffled..."
"Bye mom, I'll be back later!"
J.P. shoots out the door without waiting for a response, patting his pockets to check that he hasn't forgotten anything. Yen – spare chocolate – phone...
It's a sunny day, and he meets up with his friends from school in a park. Hachemon and Shohei are standing by a tree. He grins when he sees a girl from his class, Miki Hitomi, standing sullenly to the side and scuffing her blue shoes against the grass, but the smile drops when he notices what Shohei is holding.
"Soccer?" he whines. "Really?"
"It's my turn to pick," pronounces Hachemon.
Any hope of fun having been destroyed, J.P. sighs but doesn't offer any further protest. He does, however, side-eye his friends as Miki meanders slowly around, eyes on the sky, looking bored.
"And, her...?"
"Hachemon invited her, too," says Shohei, not sounding very thrilled.
"Um, okay."
They kick around the ball for awhile, making up increasingly ludicrous rules in an attempt to make a three-person game more interesting. Miki walks around, arms crossed, and doesn't seem interested in joining. J.P. wonders why she came.
Maybe, he thinks, she wants to join in, but feels shy or doesn't know how. He tries to wave her over, again and again. "Come on, Miki," he calls, smiling. "You and me, we can beat these guys, right?"
Miki just looks at him.
Shohei and Hachemon raise their eyebrows.
Under his breath, J.P. mutters, "Or maybe not..."
He wonders if he should just outright ask Miki what she's hoping to accomplish here, but as he's considering this possibly-foolish course of action, a forbidding rumble of noise cuts off his musings. J.P. blinks as a drop of moisture lands on his noise, as though on cue.
"Aw, it's raining again?" Hachemon complains.
"Yeah, it always seems to be raining when we want to do stuff," J.P. agrees. For a second, he's tempted to sulk; then he remembers that he didn't really want to play soccer, anyway. Sports aren't exactly his thing. "Hey, how about we go to the arcade?"
Everyone agrees to this idea. A boom of thunder hastens their departure, and the group makes a quick, scuttling run for the arcade.
Shohei and Hachemon break off as soon as they get inside, making beelines for their well-loved and familiar machines. Miki moves briskly to a nearby wall, then looks over the whole place.
J.P. wavers a moment. "If you don't have any yen, I can pay," he offers.
"I'm fine," she says.
" - Okay."
J.P. wanders around awhile, feeling a bit of his enthusiasm fade. Finally he sits himself in front of an open, one-player console – an old-fashioned adventure scenario - and starts up a quick game.
"I've still got it," he mutters smugly. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Miki walk over, twirling a strand of glossy black hair with her finger, watching him. He ignores her.
He's just about to beat a level when a loud boom of thunder causes a few people to jump, and just a second later the entire room goes dark.
J.P. hears gasps, and someone screams, which is a complete overreaction. The windows are covered – arcades are meant to be pretty dark – but if someone would just open a door the place would be bright enough. Still, he feels annoyed.
"This sucks," he hears Miki say.
A spark of anger runs through him. "What does it matter to you? You've just been standing around all day."
Silence. Irrationally, J.P. thinks, I was so close to the next level, too -
"Stupid machine!"
J.P. slams his hands on the flat surface of the keyboard, and feels something spark.
A crackle of blue lightning surges under his fingertips, tugging outward from the boy and spreading out over the console. J.P. shudders, jerking back as arcs of energy spill over the floor, then race up cords and cables.
With a hum, the lights come on, and everyone in the room starts speaking again in an explosive chatter.
"What was that?"
Flinching, J.P. spins around to look at Miki.
For the first time, she's showing signs of an actual expression; uncertainty, alarm, and something that he might even call fear.
J.P. looks down at his hands. The tips of his fingers tingle softly, numbly. He reaches out to touch a chair next to him, and flinches as a spark of static electricity jumps to his palm.
"I don't know," he says. "I – I really don't know..."
For some reason – perhaps because he is, in fact, a masochist at heart – Koji spends the first week of the schoolyear at Koichi's school, Harajukugaien.
People smile at him in the halls, then glance away, disconcerted when he only looks coldly back. Girls come up specifically to compliment him on his new hair choice – or, in some cases, to complain about it. Koji is baffled.
Is this your life, too, Koichi?
He doesn't think he can copy that – having friends. Being sociable with people. And he has failed at so much else, already...
"Koichi!"
Koji turns. A student about his own age walks up to him; delicately-boned, short, dark haired, with disconcerting pale eyes. "How are you, Koichi?"
A warning bell rings. "About to be late," Koji says. He shoulders his bag and walks away, and the boy stares after him, desolate.
The boy's name turns out to be Kinmochi, Koji learns. It is necessary to learn this because the other won't stop following him.
"Koichi, come on!" Between classes, the boy has planted himself right in Koji's path, ignoring stares. "What's wrong?"
Koji shrugs, averting his eyes.
This Kinmochi is clearly a friend of Koichi's. For the sake of appearances, it would be best, technically, if Koji were to be his friend too. And he knows, logically, that it is ridiculous to think that Kinmochi will look at him, notice his differences, and come to the conclusion that Koichi has been replaced by a twin. It is, after all, a ridiculous – ludicrous – thought, and even Mother, who knows of Koji's existence, has suspected nothing.
"I know we fought," Kinmochi says. "But you haven't even looked at me since classes started."
He tries to imagine a new scenario: Takuya dies, and Koji doesn't realize. Instead he just goes on, interacting with some insane doppelganger – maybe some ghoulish digimon or spirit, with his luck – and never learns the truth, while somewhere Takuya's bones decay slowly into the earth.
"And I know, okay, maybe, maybe I said some stuff I shouldn't have last spring, but – Koichi? Koichi, are you alright?"
"You need to stay away from me," Koji says harshly.
Kinmochi flinches. "Koichi - !"
Koichi, Koichi, Koichi.
Koji shoulders past the teen, and makes his way, alone, through the lonely halls of his brother's world.
Ah, Koichi, Koichi, why are you frowning?
Koichi, don't we always partner together? Did I offend you?
Koichi, come back, why do you look so sad, Koichi -
It is harder, far harder, than Koji would imagine to keep up this pretense all day at school. He feels like he is actually wearing Koichi's skin over his own, a grotesque costume that will burst if anyone pushes too closely. Koichi, they say, and he answers every time, with a brittle smile, learning to respond to the name as his own. Because it is his name, now. He is Koji-Koichi-Lobomon-Loweemon, all these names and more roaring under the rush of blood in his ears as questioning eyes look over his stolen skin, his face, his clothes, and force him into the place of his dead brother.
Ah, but then, no one is dead – not really.
"It's such a gruesome way to go, poison," says someone a desk over, gesturing at her book minutes before class is due to start. "Choking on her own spit, waiting to die, knowing it's about to happen - "
"Quicker than other ways. Less painful, too, I bet."
Koichi, Koichi, he hears, and the boy with the bandanna turns around, but no one is calling his name.
"How would you like to die?"
"In my sleep."
"That's boring. I'd want something with excitement. I'd want to help people – do something heroic, you know?"
"Heroism sounds painful."
Koichi...
"It could be fast, I guess. I mean, it doesn't last long relatively speaking... Might as well make the most of your last moments, right?"
The child of light and dark is split between two lives again, but this time, his struggle is more mundane. One day, he attends a school as Koji Minamoto; the next, he is across town as Koichi Kimura. On test days he has to make exceptions. His grades suffer. It is worth it. His father is angry. His mothers are angry. Everyone is angry, but it does not matter. Between the stress of two loads of schoolwork and fleeing between houses he wanders through the roads, soaking up sunbeams in the day. He is bright, burning, radiant. At night, he makes himself small and quick and silent, flitting through shade and shadow.
Sleep was always an illusion, he thinks – something mysterious, something elusive caught between the worlds of light and dark. And if the master of each gains both these dominions, it is a small price to forfeit the boundary between.
A very small price, he tells himself.
Really.
"Koji," says Emi. "I was thinking, it would be nice if we could have some time to ourselves. Just you and me. The International Kendo Federation is holding an event downtown tomorrow. There's a few open matches – I thought maybe we could go and watch..."
The teen knows his stepmother has no interest in kendo, and the offer is a very blatant attempt to appeal to his interests.
He feels stretched thin in all the wrong places. For a moment, the proposition leaves him not just nervous, but sincerely confused. Of course he cannot leave with Emi tomorrow. Koji does not exist tomorrow. Emi will not have a son tomorrow.
Then he remembers that Emi is not permitted to know that 'Koji' is light-amid-darkness, existing only half the year, and some of his confusion eases.
"Sure," he says, with an easy smile, because the teen is a boy is a fool. "That sounds fine."
Emi's eyes search his eyes for sincerity. Seeing no deception, she offers a hesitant smile in turn.
(She does not, cannot know that there is no deception on his face only because it is hard not to be honest, when the truth has become so blurred)
School records show that Kimura Koichi does not attend classes the next week. Someone under the name of Minamoto Koji does, however, attend Hiroo Junior High, collecting his late assignments and mentally preparing vague answers about his illness (purposely vague, because what kid wants to talk about his chronic illness?) in case anyone has questions.
No one really notices.
Emi picks up her son in a sensible black car after classes end. He sits quietly in the passenger's seat, hands folded.
"Did you have a nice day, Koji?"
"Sure."
A pause.
"How are your classes?"
"Fine."
Silence.
"What about your friends?"
The teen looks out the window. They are moving slowly through the congested city traffic. Bright signs offend his eyes, and he closes his eyes shut tight.
Today is not a day where he should be in the sun, or look at the sky, or -
"Koji?"
- or any of those things. It would be easier, he thinks suddenly, at the other house. Light and darkness, indeed. Perhaps that is the difference. It has nothing to do with personality, but he can never hide, in this half of life, but in the other, it is so easy to sink into the shadows -
"Koji! Are you listening to me?"
He jerks away from the window, alerted only by his stepmother's suddenly high tone. "What? I – I'm sorry. I was just – what did you say?"
He turns. Emi is staring at him hard, eyes glittering with something undefinable. Her eyes slide back to the road. "If you don't want to be here, Ko - "
"I didn't say that."
There's another, lengthy pause.
"...I asked about your friends."
Maybe it's the tension that makes him so hasty; he just wants to answer, quickly, and be done with it, so he shifts back against his chair, shrugs, and says, "I don't really have any, I guess."
"Don't have any? How could you not have any?"
That seems like a dumb question.
"Because I don't."
Emi falls silent.
Takuya is a friend, he thinks. A friend to both sides of him. J.P. and Zoe and Tommy are friends.
Were friends.
Because you talk to friends, don't you? You have to – that's how friendship works, he's pretty sure, and he hasn't spoken to any of the others in nearly two months, barring that one, disastrous meeting with Takuya...
Do the dead have friends? He wonders.
Emi gives up on small-talk, perhaps sensing that her choice of topics has hardly served to lift his mood. They arrive shortly, and he turns his head to see that a small enclosed area has drawn a crowd in a nearby park.
Emi finds a place for the car, and they get out and walk over. "You're going to have to explain how this works," she says lightly. "I don't know much about kendo."
"Uh-huh."
Emi sighs.
Her son would feel bad, but he's not sure how to be anything except what he is. Emi takes it personally, perhaps, when he is unsociable; thinks it is a reflection on her, or their relationship, and does not realize that he tries with her – more than anyone – to be sociable.
She wouldn't believe me, even if I did tell her, the boy reflects. - I wouldn't believe me, either.
Because kend ō ka fight barefoot, they typically have wooden floors. It seems strange, to have a gathering outside like this, but a portable arena has been carefully laid out and it looks suitable to the occasion.
As the two watch pair after pair of kendōka spar, the boy tilts his head. This is, indeed, more interesting than his own training in the discipline. There are some techniques not permitted to beginning students.
"Look at that," he says suddenly.
"What?" asks Emi, startled.
"In kendo, you strike or you thrust – but you're only allowed to thrust at the throat. See, the man at the left, he prefers using thrusts."
"Oh! I never knew that."
The teen hums, eyes glued to the match. Emi's voice sounds a bit warmer.
It's very dangerous, to use a thrust in kendo. He rarely dares – that can kill someone, after all.
His eyes stay on the wooden katanas, and the fragile arch of one man's neck, until the match is called to an end.
"It looks like I've mixed up the papers," says Mr. Sugimura as Koji sits in class at Hiroo Junior High. He looks up, and Mr. Sugimura holds a paper in front of the class. "But I don't recognize this name... Do any of you know a 'Kimura Koichi?"
Interlude of Ice
"Aw, come on, Yutaka, I won't be a pest - "
"Sorry, Tommy. We're seeing an older kid movie, okay?"
"What does that even mean?"
"It means... Um... Look, you can walk home, can't you?"
"Yeah, but..."
"See you tonight!"
Tommy sighs wistfully as his brother goes off with his friends. Since returning from the digital-world he's gotten on better with his brother, but Yutaka seems suspicious of this change in Tommy, stubbornly seeing him as the same, entitled child of before. I'll show him, Tommy thinks. He's determined to show Yutaka that he can be mature, now. Unfortunately, part of being mature probably includes not whining about being left behind and walking the few blocks back to his house, which... is sort of unfair, really, Tommy thinks. How is he supposed to prove himself if Yutaka never wants to spend time with him?
Tommy hefts his oversized bag, shrugs philosophically, and starts to walk toward the doors leading out of the school. Almost everyone has left by now; his talk with Yutaka has made him late. He could get in trouble with a teacher if anyone finds him too long after, so he should probably get going...
"Hey, Himi!"
Tommy pauses, glancing behind him. Sando Kosheo and Oyama Takechi stride up behind Tommy, and he frowns, pressing himself against the wall.
"What do you want?"
"You're brother left you behind, Tommy?" asks Kosheo.
Tommy clenches his fists.
Kosheo has never been fond of Tommy. Looking back after the digital world, Tommy thinks he might have motivated a bit of it with his own arrogance... but that, he knows, is no excuse to go around taunting or shoving people. As far as he can tell, all the broad-armed Takechi does is tag along with Kosheo.
"If you don't actually have anything to say, I'm leaving."
And he makes to do it, too, shouldering his bag again and turning to go. But Kosheo dodges in front of him, and stops Tommy with a hand to his forearm.
"Oh," Kosheo says. "I don't think there's any rush."
Roughly, Takechi starts yanking Tommy's pack away, and that's when he knows there's going to be real trouble.
"Get away from me! Get – "
Tommy has absolutely no compunctions about screaming and wailing for help. Kosheo, apparently not surprised, slaps a hand over his mouth as Takechi starts dragging the smaller boy backwards.
Tommy flails and writhes uselessly, and after a moment manages to bite down on Kosheo's hand.
"Ow!"
"I'm not afraid of you!"
"Good for you," Kosheo mocks, and, sticking his sleeve over his hand, slaps his palm over Tommy's mouth again.
With much awkward yanking, shoving, pulling, and dragging, they apparently get Tommy where they want him: in front of a pair of double-sided steel doors by the kitchen. Finally Takechi, panting and out of breath, circles one arm around Tommy's neck and squeezes hard as Kosheo struggles to open it. Tommy wheezes, fighting just to draw in enough air to breathe, much less yell. Finally, when he thinks he can no longer stand it, Kosheo must succeed, because Takechi shoves him stumbling through the doors.
He's in a storage room.
A freezer room.
Coughing from his near-strangulation, Tommy stumbles and turns back. "Are you stupid!" he cries. "You can't just leave me here!"
"Yes we can," says Kosheo cheerfully, not getting his point at all. "The teachers left early for a conference; they might not find you until tomorrow. Have fun, Tommy!"
Tommy lunges for the door, crying, but it slams in his face, leaving him lost in darkness.
He pulls, and pulls, but the doors are locked tightly shut. Tommy can hear footsteps running away outside the doors. Then, for a long time, there is only silence and the sound of his own hoarse breathing.
Tommy feels stunned. Don't those idiots realize he could die here? Probably not – it's just a prank to them, a stupid prank, and they don't care at all. His life is just a prank, and no one will ever find him...
Tommy sinks to his knees, feeling the slide of ice and condensation under his skin – today was an awful day to wear shorts – and he begins to take short, gulping breaths of air. I'm a legendary warrior. A legendary warrior. No stupid bully is going to make me cry. I defeated Lucemon, he's nothing! He's – He's -
Tommy starts to cry.
No one can see him, at least; he takes solace in that, and cries with abandon. The tears freeze on his cheeks. Perhaps they will find him like this, an icy corpse with salty eyes, and the idea just terrifies him more. It takes awhile for the fear to pass from him enough for another thought to intrude, and then he thinks -
I'm an idiot.
Tommy starts to frantically rifle through his pockets. And then, after a heart-stopping moment, he sighs in complete relief.
His green and blue phone lays in his hand. Full service, too...
"Come on, pick up, pick up," Tommy begs, dialing.
There's a small wait. Tommy's heart pounds in his chest. He feels a little dizzy. "Pick up, please..."
There's a click. "Hello? Tommy?"
"Yutaka! Yutaka, please, come back to the school!"
"Tommy? Tommy, I told you to go home - "
"Yutaka, I can't – s-some..." Tommy feels a traitorous sob crawling up his throat, and forces it down, so there's only a minor hitch in his voice, "some b-bullies came by and shoved me into the freezer at school – I can't get out, and it's..."
Tommy pauses.
The fear leaves him, suddenly, in one swoop.
"...cold?" he murmurs, puzzled.
"The freezer? What? Tommy, are you serious?" Any irritation has faded to alarm.
"Yes, I'm serious! Please, Yutaka!"
"I'm coming, I – I'll be there in a few minutes, hang on, okay? Will you be alright if I turn the phone off to - ?"
"Yes, I – yes, I'll be fine..."
"Okay. Okay. I'll be right there. It's going to be fine, Tommy, hang on." With a click, the line dies.
Slowly, Tommy lowers his phone.
"Cold," he repeats.
But it isn't.
Cold, that is.
With wonder, Tommy reaches down and traces the ice against the floor. It feels smooth and sleek against his fingers, and perfectly pleasant to the touch.
Maybe I have hypothermia already, Tommy thinks nervously. People feel warm right before they die of the cold, don't they?
But he knows, deep down, that this isn't that. He isn't cold, not at all. He's perfectly, perfectly comfortable. More comfortable, maybe, than he has been in months...
Slowly, Tommy lays back, lying spread-eagled against the icy floor.
Huh.
Tommy reaches out blindly with one hand, scraping his nails against the ice. Chips shatter under his nails. I'm making snow, he thinks. There should be more snow in Japan, really.
He is not crying anymore.
It's almost startling when someone bangs loudly on the steel doors, and he hears the familiar voice of his brother call, "Just a moment, Tommy!" in a way that is frantic but meant to be reassuring. Tommy sits up, blinking a little, and looks at the doors as they open.
"Tommy!"
Yutaka falls beside Tommy, hugging him tightly. "You're freezing!" is the very first thing he says. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?" He's checking Tommy almost frantically, fingers fluttering over the younger child's hair, his shoulders, a touch of guilt in his eyes.
He feels bad... it's not your fault, Yutaka..
"I'm fine, Yutaka," Tommy promises. "Really."
"Are you sure - "
"Really."
And this is the truth, too. He's fine.
But he thinks of ice under his skin, and the touch of snow in his fingers, and decides, it might be time to talk to the others, though...
Kinmochi approaches one day, while he is sitting and doodling in a notebook. Kinmochi peers over, hesitantly. "I don't recognize that kanji."
"It's my name."
Koji, Koji, Koji, all over the page. Tiny and large. Fat and small. Sprawling and tight, graceful, illegible.
Kinmochi frowns.
Looks at him.
"No, it isn't.
And the boy pauses in his scribbling, looks down at the page, and then looks back at Kinmochi.
His shoulders start to shake.
"N-no, no," he says, smiling. Kinmochi steps back from his once-maybe friend. "No." The boy is laughing a little. It is not an amused laugh. "No, it isn't."
At the home of his father again, the boy does slow katas in his room, expelling the half-hysterical breaths from his body. His heart, his mind, are numb. There is something important about today's encounter – like so many things, he does not want to think about it. Forward. He must move forward, as always. 'Forward' is all he has left, now.
The child's thoughts are interrupted by a knock on his door.
Sighing, the child sets down his bamboo practice katana, moves to the door, and opens it. "What?"
Emi sounds uncertain. "Koji," she says. "There's... a boy here to see you."
He blinks.
He stands and brushes past his stepmother, stepping into the hallway.
No one comes to visit him. Not anymore. A boy... who would...
When he swings open the door, he feels a strange dissonance. A tearing. Like a dead shade from a past life has returned, unwelcome, to haunt his door.
"Koji," says Kanbara Takuya. "We need to talk."
Cloistered inside the boy's room, with Emi unsuccessfully hiding her curiosity outside, Takuya doesn't even pretend to hide his unease. The characteristic slouch of his posture can't hide a tension that only accompanies serious perturbation. Takuya leans against the wall, crossing his arms as he studies his friend. One brow deepens in concern.
"Jeez, Koji. Have you looked at yourself, lately?"
Ignoring this, the boy asks, "What do you want, Takuya?"
Takuya looks at him for a moment more. "Something's happening," he says finally. "Zoe, J.P., Tommy – they're all worried. We're meeting in a week to talk. You should be there."
"I'm not - "
"Koji, you can't just hide yourself away like this!"
"Says who?!"
- Huh.
Takuya looks some strange mix of stricken and triumphant. Bolstering himself, he takes a step forward, ready to press his advantage. Koji can't let that happen.
"You missed it that much, did you?"
"What?"
Takuya looks confused for a moment. Then his expression clears a little. "This isn't about missing the digital world, Koji, it's about - "
"That's not what I meant. You just can't stand not having people to order around, can you?"
Takuya's jaw drops.
"That's always been what this is about! Don't fool yourself, Takuya – you're not the leader anymore. You're not the hero. Here, you're just a normal kid, like everyone else, with no friends, and you can't stand it, can you?"
"Oh yeah? Because it sounds more like you're describing yourself than me, Koji!"
"Why did you even come here?"
"Because I'm your friend!"
"If you were my friend, you wouldn't have - !"
Wouldn't have let me walk back, alone, with my brother's death on my hands – left me – betrayed me – forgotten me – he's crumbling, and the words close in his throat.
"Wouldn't have what, Koji?"
"Get out!" Koji demands, because it hurts, it hurts, Koji, Koji, and not - "Get out, get out, never come back!"
He lunges forward, hears the note of hysteria in his own voice. Takuya blanches, eyes widening in shock, and stumbles away. As though he doesn't know what else to do, Takuya puts a hand on the door, half-opening it.
Then he hesitates – but it is too late.
"I think you should leave," Minamoto Emi says emphatically, shouldering through the half-open door and putting a hand on Takuya's shoulder. He jumps in surprise, and her stepson watches, shuddering with emotion, as his friend looks to him bleakly for some sign that everything is alright.
"...You know how to find me," comes the soft sigh. Then, despondently, Takuya has no choice but to leave.
Emi knows her stepson; she appraises him, hesitates, and then shuts the door quietly, leaving him to his privacy.
The boy takes a few breaths to calm himself. For some reason, he finds he's trembling a little. Hearing the distant sound of a slamming door, he moves to watch Takuya leave from the window.
Takuya, walking away, pauses down the street and stares back at the house for a long time. His face shows conflicting emotions, which the teen can't read. Then, squaring his shoulders, Takuya keeps walking and disappears, the uncertain form of his silhouette growing fainter until finally fading away into the ether.
We need to talk to your parents, they tell him. About your conduct.
Which is a problem, because part of the deal with the boy's stand-in 'parents' is, no phone numbers. He needs to find them himself, though he has a good idea of where to start.
But walking around Ueno at night is not a comforting task on a good day, and today even less so. The boy is usually focused, alert. Today he walks on air. He looks at the world through duel eyes, and thinks, something is broken.
Something has been broken.
He wonders, dizzily, naively: ...Who broke it?
When the men approach him, he should almost expect it. He doesn't. He doesn't even see them, though the pair are hardly subtle.
"Hey, kid. Need some help?"
They stink like alcohol and smoke and sweat, like cheap fabric and sugary things and nothing, nothing good. The teen stumbles away, looking around on reflex – he is alone. He can take two half-drunks, he thinks – though the glint of their eyes is sober enough – but unease makes his heart race.
If he vanishes, two houses will lose their sons tonight.
The fatter man turns to move closer on one side; his tall companion moves around the other, both smiling unpleasantly at him. He tenses. He can fight, surely. He can fight. He might not win, but he can try, and if they think he'll be easy, they have something else coming.
He will always fight.
Suddenly, both men freeze.
…He knows this feeling.
But he doesn't have his D-Tector. It should be impossible to spirit evolve, much less to do... whatever this is.
He knows the sensation of being a digimon well enough that when the sliding muscle and fur settles into place over his bones, it feels not only comfortable but welcome. This form is smaller than any of his others – maybe even a little smaller than his human self. He is humanoid, but has clearly stuck with the wolfish theme, judging by the five long, grasping claws that form in place of fingers. He has never understood how pants or buckles are part of a digimon's body, but these have come with the change, too. And his new, thin fur, ragged and rough to the touch, is almost disconcerting to the eye. Everything about him – from tapered claw to glove to boot-buckle, and even his fur and skin – is a strange, chromatic white, gray or black. He could be in an old black and white picture, and look no different.
A whisper floats through his mind, and he flexes a claw. *Strabimon...
Grinning truly now, Strabimon twists to the fat man, rearing back one long leg. "Light leg!"
The bright glow that blinds the street almost makes the man's scream of fear inconsequential. When the light fades, the man is crumpled against a far building, holding his ribs. Blood oozes from his bent arm.
And Strabimon was holding back.
The digimon turns, but the tall man is nowhere to be seen. And so, turning, the creature lopes away.
He will have to find his stand-in parents another day: for the first time in months, things have just gotten interesting.
Interlude of Fire
"Shouldn't we have Koji here?" Zoe asks. "It feels weird to talk about this without him."
"He had his reasons," Takuya says curtly. "If we discuss anything important, I'll tell him, but for now let's leave him be, okay?"
Exchanging glances, there are a few reluctant nods. "Okay," Takuya says. "The thing is – Zoe, you said you think the wind pushed you. J.P., you're saying you might have powered up some electronics... or the power could just have turned on again. And, Tommy, you didn't feel the cold... but how do you know it wasn't just the adrenaline?"
"Hey, are you calling us liars?" J.P. demands.
"No. And I'm not saying that you guys are wrong. I'm just trying to say, we need to consider the possibility that we're possibly overreacting here. We don't exactly have a lot to go on."
"My, my, Takuya the skeptic," Zoe hums.
"Look, we think our spirits are affecting us somehow, right? Or maybe they've changed us permanently, or – or something." No one says anything. "That is what we're all getting at, right?"
Tommy breaks in. "But, how do we test it for sure? It's not like we have any digimon to ask anymore, and our D-tectors are gone, too..." he's holding his cellphone, glaring at it reproachfully.
"Well, I've thought of a sure-fire test," Takuya promises. Everyone looks intrigued.
"Yeah?" J.P asks. "What's that?"
Takuya reaches into his pocket, then brings out a lighter. He flicks it a few times until a bright flame comes forth.
"What, you're going to test your heat-resistance? How's that any better than what Tommy - "
Grinning, Takuya unceremoniously sticks his hand onto the fire.
"Takuya!" Zoe yelps. J.P. flinches, and Tommy makes a lunge for him, shouting, "are you crazy - ?"
Takuya pulls away, laughing a little, hand still held tightly over the small flame. He ignores Zoe's demands to "Stop it, stop it!" and waits a few agonizing seconds before taking his hand away and showing it to the others.
His hand is perfectly whole.
"Felt completely cool," he says. Despite the smile, there's a certain grimness to his eyes. "So – are we considering this a problem, yet?"
*Strabimon is a real digimon; you can see him on the digimon wiki