Preamble: The enemy of my enemy… alludes to conversations and events from other stories in the "Yusuke and his nanny" series (that I still need a better title for), specifically: Just Past Closing, One and a Half Revolutions Around the Sun, Ends of the Earth (Through a Glass, Darkly), and hopefully North Bound (Hokushin and Raizen prequel fancomics) at some point. However, it can also be read as a standalone piece.
"Ready?"
"Good to go." I give a thumbs up. I'm training myself to work such casual gestures into my everyday vocabulary. Forced repetition is the secret to adaptation, and rapid adaptation is the key to survival. This has been the mantra of my life all these past years: a skill honed, not a talent unearned. That is true mastery.
My companion turns. He lifts an eyebrow ever so slightly at my appearance.
Ever so slightly. It's a microexpression, the briefest hint of incredulity and amusement washing over his face, faster than you can blink at a flash of lightning. Impossible to catch unless you're conditioned to automatically watch for your opponent's every muscle twitch.
And to consider all individuals around you as potential opponents.
For two centuries. Minimum.
He doesn't say a word. He gives away no other emotion and makes no other movement, not even raising his gaze despite being a full head shorter than I. A worthy opponent.
But I knew that already.
"It's not out of place," I say from behind my face mask. I tug lightly at the elastic on one side to smooth it out, then adjust my tie. "I'll sniffle and cough every so often. No one will ask questions." I had done my research. Just as he had, to know that a well-dressed salaryman wouldn't earn many second glances on a crowded Tokyo train either.
Even one with a head shaved like a Buddhist monk.
He smiles. It's not mocking, but calm and relaxed. "That's why I didn't say anything," replies my coworker, former leader of the late King Raizen's army and my mortal enemy, sworn to die at my hand on the field of battle whence our forces clashed for the ultimate time. But that's all outdated business from past workplaces.
He picks up his suitcase. "You have your passport?"
...
It's 3 AM (UTC + 09:00, Tokyo, Japan, Human World), so things are slow at the interworld travel booth. The employee in the office is passed out. Drool dribbles down his chin and onto his desk pad.
I frown behind my mask. An unacceptable showing even for an office grunt. It's amazing how quickly things can change in just a few years. Anyone pulling this in Mukuro's kingdom might as well have "Dead Meat" scrawled on their forehead.
I tap on the glass. "Excuse me," I say. Nothing happens.
I try again, a single solid rap. "Hey. Wake up."
He continues snoring away.
I resist the urge to smash the window with my fist. I also restrain myself from levitating and throttling the other demon. Or setting him on fire with pyrokinesis. Instead, I rap the glass a few more times while my coworker looks on approvingly.
After the eleventh rap, the grunt blinks sleepily, and his eyeball rolls upwards at us. When he registers what he sees, he emits a choked shriek of disbelief, and nearly falls out of his chair.
"L-L-L-Lord Kirin! And Lord H-Hokushin!" Folders and papers fly as the grunt rushes out of the booth and flings himself on the floor, pressing his shaking forehead against the tiles. "F-forgive my sh-shameful welcome and unworthy presence. What can a lowly peon like myself do for your most glorious esteemed persons, second only to the three kings and, uhh, third only to the Emperor himself?"
"Please get up," Hokushin says. He's the picture of patience.
I look down at the grovelling form before us. "Try again," I say. "This won't do us any favours in modern Human World relations."
The grunt scrambles to his feet and bows, hands at his sides. "Uh, where are my manners. Good day, sirs. How can I help you?"
"Emperor's orders," says Hokushin, flashing a card. "One day business trip to Tokyo. You can process us as normal."
"Of course, sir. Only the best for the two greatest of generals in Makai history. I mean, only the most courteous of service for our finest civil servants. Uh, and all our members of the public as well." He stamps our papers quickly as he chatters he hands back my documents, they're so covered with stamps that I can barely read the contents anymore.
The grunt rings us up. "That'll be 3000 MKD each," he says cheerfully, getting into his role. "Credits are fine while we're still phasing in the new Makai dollar currencies. Ooh, I almost forgot. Please fill out our new customer feedback survey. You'll be entered into a draw. The grand prize is tickets to the next 3ccult performance with VIP backstage passes!"
He leans forward conspiratorially. "But between you and me, I'm sure if the two of you fill it out, you'll definitely win! Heheh."
Hokushin clears his throat politely.
The grunt straightens and salutes nervously. "Err, I mean, chances of winning are based on total survey response. It's a totally fair draw! Completely! The strictest of regulations! Everything is above the board as you can be! Just like the government of Makai! We look forward to your feedback to improve our service!"
"Thank you." I hand Hokushin my receipt. "Not my thing," I say.
He glances at the survey code. "I think I know someone who might find this useful." He folds and pockets both receipts, and we head for our gate.
...
NOTICE, reads the sign near us. IT IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY TO CHECK YOUR TICKETS AND ENSURE YOUR ROUTE INFORMATION MATCHES THE TRAIN YOU ARE BOARDING. TECHNICAL EQUIPMENT MALFUNCTION ASIDE, PASSENGERS BEAR FULL RESPONSIBILITY FOR ARRIVING AT AN INCORRECT HUMAN WORLD DESTINATION. MAKAI TRANSIT AUTHORITY WILL NOT ISSUE ANY REFUNDS. The accompanying illustration shows a demon dressed for sunny tropical weather arriving in a blizzard on the wrong side of the world.
The ghost train platform - more of a demon train platform, really - services multiple lines from a number of Human World transit systems. The next one arrives on the dot, cruising into the station to the sound of friendly chimes.
"Makai Yurikamome, Rinkai Line, to Tokyo Teleport Station," says the disembodied female voice. All trains are carefully designed to mimic their counterparts in every way, and I understand this one works particularly well as its Ningenkai twin is also a driverless vehicle.
Hokushin catches my eye and nods. It's ours.
The doors slide open and we step in. Several seconds later the doors shut and the train exits the station. It will shortly pass through a stabilized gate, and the cars will seamlessly roll into the Human World station, temporarily displacing the real train via temporal shift. The transition happens in seconds, and no one will notice a thing. Even a particularly observant psychic, in most cases, will simply experience a mental wave similar to déjà vu - didn't I just see the train come in already? Whatever.
We settle into our seats. At this hour of the day, we're the only passengers. I look out the window as the darkness zips by.
Hokushin shifts slightly next to me. "Your first trip to the Human World?" he asks conversationally. He's already been on countless cross-world missions for the Emperor; this is my first.
But not, actually, my first trip to the Human World.
I shake my head. "No."
He doesn't bother hiding his surprise. It's mild, but genuine. "Really? When, if you don't mind my asking?"
I half-smile behind my mask. "Heian period. A bit of the beginning of the Kamakura period, before the barrier went up." I'd been keeping an eye on him even well before the Yata no Kagami - or I should say, Mirror of Darkness - incident at the human court. But it's no wonder he's never recognized me from our shared time amongst humans. This was literally ages ago, when we both bore different names. He's never hidden his face. In contrast, I've never removed my mask since being in Mukuro's service. "Things will be a little different, I imagine."
"An understatement," he says. His brow is slightly furrowed. I can see he's thinking, gauging, wondering if there was overlap in place, since there clearly was in time.
"I'll look to you for guidance, then," I reply, letting him do his mental gymnastics. Maybe he'll figure it out.
The chimes sound again.
"Our stop," I say. His expression resets to perfectly neutral. He nods, and we both get up. This conversation will likely continue some time in the future, once we've been working together longer. In the meantime, the day ahead of us is packed with a full calendar of meetings.
…
"I hate meetings," I say. I've experienced many trials, but this had been an especially trying session.
"Mm-hmm," he replies sympathetically.
"And the red tape. I hate the red tape. I would love to wrap my fingers around the thick neck-stump of the bureaucratic flesh-bag who came up with the process, and squeeze until their blood vessels burst and their eyeballs pop out of their sockets."
He peers over his coffee at me. "Please stop gripping and squeezing the empty air," he says. "It's unsettling. Also, I'm assuming you're not using arcane arts to remotely strangle a bureaucrat. But if you are, please stop that as well."
"Sorry." I lower my hand. "I'm not. Oh, is it appropriate to complain about meetings?"
"Yes," he says. "I believe humans complain about their work all the time. But maybe stop before you get to the part about what you would love to do."
"Ah. Makes sense they wouldn't say things like that." I pause, recalling in feudal days some humans did have looser, more violent lips. "Anymore. I suppose."
"Well, my understanding is they still sometimes do. But we should probably hold ourselves to higher standards of conduct in public until further notice." He takes another drink. "I thought you did an excellent job. That was honestly the smoothest I've ever seen it go, certainly with any of the previous staff I've brought with me. I'm impressed. Though perhaps I shouldn't be, after the project management work we did together on the inaugural tournament."
I can't help but smile behind my mask. "I've had some experience biting my tongue and biding my time."
He smiles wryly. "Seems we have more than a few things in common."
…
Our last meeting done. I yawn behind my mask. Hokushin glances at his watch. "We should catch some dinner before we head back. Not literally. Do you have any preferences?"
"No. Do you have any recommendations?"
He looks at me like he's carrying a joke in his back pocket. "I know a great little place around the corner. I come here all the time when I'm in the neighbourhood."
The great little place is very literally a little place: a tiny stand under a train pass. When the train goes by, everything vibrates. As we near, the lone figure in the stall looks up, and I nearly laugh out loud when I see who it is.
"Welcome- heyyyy, if it ain't Hokushin! And… uh… you! Mister Masked Man."
"My coworker Kirin," Hokushin introduces me. He pulls up a stool and motions for me to sit beside him. "He was my counterpart under Mukuro." He nods at me. "This is my former employer. You might remember him."
Of course I remember him. The engineer of our current circumstances. Raizen's scion snaps his fingers in recognition, then waves a finger in my direction. "Oh, right, right. Kirin. Mukuro's general. You and Hiei worked together!"
"That's right. You're Urameshi Yusuke." I extend a hand in greeting. "Nice to see you again."
He blinks, caught off-guard for a split second by the gesture. Then he takes my hand and shakes it cheerfully. "Great to see you again. How's life?"
"Good," I say. "Different. I'm adapting."
"That's cool. Don't worry, it ain't you; humans are weird. You ever have questions, just ask. I taught Hokushin everything he knows about pop culture."
"Oh," interrupts Hokushin, sounding like he's just recalled something. "I have something for you." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out our receipts, entry numbers neatly written on each one.
"When'd you do the surveys?" I ask.
"While we were waiting for the train," he replies.
"What's this?" asks Yusuke, taking the receipts and eyeballing them.
"Customer feedback survey draw," Hokushin says. "One of the prizes is 3ccult tickets. I can't guarantee anything, but I understand the odds of winning are… pretty good."
Yusuke's eyes widen with delight. "Awesome!"
I'm startled. "You're into that?"
Yusuke snorts. "Yeah, no. I just have customers bugging me about it all the time. Frigging groupies drive me crazy. They bring a lot of business though!" He folds and puts the receipts in a folder at the back of the stall. "This is great. Thanks a ton."
He turns back to us with a wide grin, rubbing his hands together and then resting them on the counter, elbows out. "Well, gentlemen, dinner's on me. What'll it be?"
I look blankly at him.
Hokushin nudges me and points at the menu. "I'll have the usual," he says, tapping one of the items on the sign.
I shrug. "I'll have the same."
Two large bowls soon thunk onto the counter in front of us. I look down at the contents: slices of pork, egg, and other toppings in a thick nest of noodles, steeping and steaming in a broth.
"Here you go!" says Yusuke. He looks at me. "Uh, you might need to take off your mask."
I wave a hand. "The mask stays. It's immaterial; I can eat through it as if it were no more than air. And don't worry about the humans. My arcane arts will easily deflect their attention from something so minor."
Yusuke laughs. "Guess we'll never know your secret identity. Sure, whatever works for you." He pushes the bowl closer to me, and a warm, savoury scent wafts up. I suddenly feel my mouth watering.
There's a poke in my side. I turn my head just as Hokushin passes me a pair of chopsticks and a plastic spoon folded inside a napkin. I watch as he breaks out his utensils and tucks into the ramen, and I follow suit.
The second after I swallow my first bite, Yusuke spins around. "Weeeeeeeeeeellll?" he says expectantly, staring at me.
"It's good," I reply. He grins and gives Hokushin a high five.
As we eat, other customers come and go. There's a constant stream of friendly banter as some grab takeout, others sit at the counter next to us. Most are human, but there are demons as well. Every so often someone takes a stool next to us, turns to look at the menu and does a double take at the sight of Mukuro and Raizen's generals in business suits, eating ramen. The meal takes longer as we stop repeatedly to explain. There are exclamations and laughter.
After a while, it's just the three of us again. I watch Hokushin and Raizen's scion as they converse directly. The topic jumps all over the place. They're wholly at ease, wholly comfortable.
Yusuke wipes his hands on his apron, then dips down behind the counter to grab something. I blink. His motion reminds me how small and humble the stall is. It's clearly a one-man operation with late and long hours. After upheaving the entire Demon World, this is what he returned for?
When he stands back up, I put down my chopsticks. "I don't understand," I say.
"What?"
"Why this." I gesture at the bowl of ramen, the stall.
"You don't have to slurp the rest of it if you don't wanna. I won't judge."
"Not that. This. You could have been king. You were king."
Yusuke laughs loudly, as if he just heard the funniest punchline in the world. "You know how many times I've been asked that? You people make things so fucking complicated." He continues working as he talks: chopping ingredients, stirring things in pots, wiping surfaces, cleaning knives. "Dude, I coulda been dead. I was dead. If there's one thing I've managed to pick up with my empty skull, it's never confuse what people say you should want with what you want." He ticks things off on one hand. "I like fighting. I like cooking. I like being with people I care about, and a lot of them happen to be humans living in the human world. They got buckets they'll be kicking eventually. Why'm I gonna waste time on extra irrelevant shit I don't care about? I do what I want. Period. If things change, I'll let you know." He waves a ladle at me. "You want more noodles?"
"Please," I say. "And I understand perfectly now."
And I do. On one level, it's baffling. On another level, it fits him completely. He's entirely in his element, as surely as he was in his element in battle, at the tournament in Gandara.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Hokushin looking on quietly. His expression is one I could only describe as contentment.
…
I wait at the corner while the two of them wrap up their farewells. "You guys are doing awesome," I can hear Yusuke saying. "Tell Enks he's ruining my business model. My detective gig is turning into a front for the ramen stand! It's supposed to be the other way around!"
Soon enough, Hokushin joins me.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," he says. "We'll catch the train to Odaiba now. To catch the other train back."
"It's fine." As we walk towards the station, I lean over slightly. "By the way, what was that he called you at the end?" I ask. I know exactly what it was, as I could easily hear their entire conversation. But this amuses me.
Hokushin rolls his eyes and shakes his head in a curt, dismissive motion. "It's just one of his silly jokes."
"'Magical demon nanny'? I can see that."
He gives me a look. "Do you even know what a nanny is?"
"Overprotective busybody who takes care of the children," I reply. With relish.
He gives me another look.
"You asked if he was eating and sleeping properly," I point out. "You asked him how business was going and if he needed anything. I noticed you snuck money into his till for both of our meals, even though everything was on the house. And you left a big tip."
"He likes to do what he wants," Hokushin says, sounding exasperated. "I like to make sure he doesn't end up living out of a crate in an alley."
"His business seems to be doing well. He seems to be doing great. I'm sure 'His ex-Majesty' will be just fine."
He sighs. "Yes, well, sometimes I have my doubts."
I chuckle. "See? You are a nanny."
"Be quiet."
My amusement grows. "Are you shushing me?"
"I'm not dignifying the rest of this conversation with a response."
"If you insist." I mentally file the information away for future use. Personal entertainment purposes.
…
Instead of being on our (non-Human World) train, Hokushin and I are sitting in a pod in a circular contraption called a Ferris wheel. There's been an unexpected delay - some Human World city somewhere is experiencing a major transit problem, and the backlog is affecting the ghost train. Until the Makai Transit Authority opens up more platforms, there isn't much we can do about it.
Except wait. So here we are, killing time before the next train to Tokyo Teleport can be squeezed in. The Ferris wheel was Hokushin's suggestion after I asked for a decent vantage point to survey the area.
The sky is dark, but the area around us is infiltrated with neon lights that shimmer and change colour. In the distance are faraway buildings, also silhouetted with lights. Lights of all colours, shapes, words and images.
I scan the landscape and ask questions about things that catch my eye. Hokushin answers with his eyes glued to his smartphone. Scanning work emails, probably; he really is a workaholic. But I understand the mentality. I can't say I won't be doing the same once I'm used to the trips and immersed in all of the technology.
"What's that?" I point to a spot behind him.
"What's what?" he says without glancing up.
I squint. "It looks to be a giant humanoid statue. The head is like a samurai helm-"
"-Ah," he replies knowingly, still not looking up. "That's the life-size Gundam."
I lean forward. "What's a Gundam?"
"A giant robot. Pardon me, a 'mobile suit'. You pilot it like a vehicle. It fights battles in outer space. Humans also collect miniature versions, paint them, et cetera."
"Outer space?! What's it doing on Odaiba?! How fast can it move?" I imagine the statue running, keeping pace with Mukade. That would be a sight to see.
"No, it's fiction. That one's part of an entertainment experience called Gundam Front. We can go if you like. The Emperor will pay for it. Cultural expedition falls under continuing education expenses." He swipes his screen, taps it several times and then scrolls for a few seconds. "Never mind, it's closed now."
"Too bad," I say, leaning back in my seat. I'm mildly disappointed, but still intrigued. "Humans have the strangest ideas."
He nods absently. "They're brilliant at amusing themselves," he says, still scrolling away. "Hmm. What's still open at this hour? Oh, the 'theme park' onsen, if you want to try that. It's a bit gimmicky, but very popular." He shows me the photos on his phone. "They have a central court styled to look like Edo Japan with animatronic sculptures. There's all kinds of food, games, massages, an outdoor foot bath, fish that nibble the dead skin off your feet... Oh, and an onsen."
Our browsing is interrupted with a loud ding!
MTA SERVICE UPDATE, says the notification on the screen. MAKAI YURIKAMOME, RINKAI LINE TO TOKYO TELEPORT: ESTIMATED TIME OF ARRIVAL TO TOKYO TELEPORT NOW FIVE MINUTES. THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE.
"I guess we'll have to schedule it for next time," he says.
"Next time," I agree, fascinated.
…
The return trip is taking longer than expected. The ghost train has had to make several detours on account of the lingering Human World transit issues. But at least we're moving. There are grumblings from a few passengers, but for the most part everyone is patient and civil.
"So, what did you think of your first trip back back to the Human World?" Hokushin asks.
I flash another thumbs up. "Excellent," I reply. "I'm already looking forward to the next one. Especially if there are fewer meetings and we get some time at the onsen and the other attractions."
He chuckles. "Good," he says. "I think it was very productive, as well."
"This is a very different way of life," I remark.
"You're adapting well," he says.
I decide to raise a question I had long been curious about. "Do you ever wish things had turned out differently?" I ask.
He cocks his head slightly at me. "Differently?"
"From where we netted out. The kingdoms. The tournament. The three worlds. This." I look around us at the train interior. "We were all growing tired of the stalemate. Something was bound to snap at some point. But we could have decided when, how the snap would occur, where to make the cut, instead of it dragging out to the umpteenth hour."
He doesn't reply immediately. "Interesting you put it that way," he finally says, after a moment of silence. "As if we had all just sat tight and waited. In terms of the stalemate, I would say Mukuro and Yomi's kingdoms had a distinct advantage. Waiting was certainly not to ours."
"I don't disagree," I reply. "But there was so much hand-wringing over that power balance. When it was really more how that power would ultimately be directed."
"Yes, it was always about more than the power itself," he says. "It was an ideological standoff. I believe it turned out for the best."
I laugh. "Well, that sounds like something a winner would say. Seeing as your king's ideology prevailed."
He shrugs modestly. "It's still early days. And it would never have been possible if the other kings hadn't come to agree," he says graciously.
"To be honest," I say, "At their core, I always felt Mukuro and Raizen's visions had overlap. Alignment. Leaving things be or letting the future change them as they need to. Yomi was the only one who had an agenda of aggressive expansion and control of all worlds."
He says nothing, listening. But my trained eye catches a faint stiffening of his upper body at my suggestion. He's wrestling internally with something.
"Obviously there were some differences of opinion," I continue. "But it sometimes seemed to me that the differences weren't that unsurmountable, considering what was at stake. Who decided it was so important or beneficial to maintain a delicate balance? You'd think over the centuries there might have been at least one opening or two to tip the scales a bit." I shrug. "But perhaps that's a misconception on my part."
"I-" he starts, then stops.
I look over at him. "You?" I prompt casually, as if nothing is out of the ordinary. As if we weren't two former enemy generals debating an alternative outcome to 500 years of war.
"I did-" He stops again. Then he continues, very slowly. Very softly. "...That is, King Raizen and I did discuss the possibility of alliance. With Mukuro. The idea was ultimately- I wouldn't say discarded. But the king- the idea wasn't ready. The time never seemed right to bring it up again. It was never acted upon. And then it was too late."
As he speaks, I feel my iron stomach tie itself into knots. Despite his attempt at choosing his words carefully, it's easy to read between the lines. I can practically envision how the conversation must have gone, based on my own experiences.
"I knew it!" I catch myself before I slam a fist on the nearest hard surface. A few passengers in the car turn in our direction, then hurriedly look away. Hokushin's gaze slides towards me without moving his head, his eyes widening slightly at my reaction.
I take a deep breath. Then I place a hand on his shoulder, continuing the conversation at an inaudible level. Mukuro and I discussed the very same. I suggested Raizen would be open to an alliance. She felt otherwise. Circumstances were such that it was unwise for me to raise the matter further. We did nothing. She didn't hate Yomi enough yet, apparently. And then it was too late.
He lifts his head and looks straight into my eyes. Our thoughts line up exactly.
Perhaps they were both only waiting for the other to reach out.
We stare at each other in silence, aghast. Outwards, our expressions are completely neutral. Inside is another story entirely. Separate, we'd only been able to speculate, to treat the notion as no more than a fanciful thought experiment. To suddenly, now, have confirmation of our suspicions - it was reeling. It made that knowledge instantly feel more solid than the physical world around us.
That we had actually been so close instead of a chasm apart. That things could have ended a long time ago. That things could have turned out very, very different.
Hokushin is the one to finally break the long psychic silence. We don't know. It never happened. Perhaps things might have been better. Or worse. Or no different at all.
All true. All obvious, all general trains of thought that don't stop wild imaginings in their tracks.
And then he says: But Raizen would still be dead.
The thought is crystal-clear and permits zero speculation. It carries the heaviness of reality with it, the vivid yet dull finality of a truth one already knows but doesn't want to hear. A truth that, when finally spoken, ceases all debate.
Not much you can say to that. He was committed, wasn't he, I reply.
The words enter my mind, quiet but clear: After such a lengthy period of abstinence, I think it was already too late centuries ago.
And then the thought is gone. It carried only the faintest trail of the grief hiding behind it before vanishing entirely.
He had already known for centuries there was no way out. I'm not surprised. The warrior monk's loyalty is legendary.
I remove my hand from his shoulder. He turns to stare out into the aisle again. There's no change in his facial expression, but to my mind his eyes seem sadder.
"I do think about it sometimes," he murmurs. "But wishful thinking - the kind where no action can be taken - is pointless."
I think of a mirror with a surface of dark glass. "That never stopped some humans," I say quietly, thinking back to words one or both of us must have said a long, long time ago. I echo them, paraphrase. "Even if it cost them their lives. They couldn't accept it. They couldn't reconcile the incompatibility between their personal wishes and the greater reality."
His gaze suddenly sharpens.
"Yes," he replies. His tone is brisk. "As I said, that kind of thinking is pointless." He straightens. "Dangerous. Like looking into a dark mirror with no reflection. And thinking you see something there. An illusion."
"Very dangerous," I agree. "Wasting time on the past wastes it twice."
"Once on the past, and once in the present."
We stare at each other for a few more minutes. Then the corner of his mouth quirks, and his expression lightens.
"To tell the truth," he says, "I can't say I'm upset about where we netted out. All things considered, I am… quite happy with it."
I'm not entirely sure if he remembers or recognizes or knows or not, but it doesn't really matter.
"Me too," I agree. "As thrilling and glorious as it would've been, I'm glad we didn't have to meet on the field of battle and die violent deaths at each other's hands."
Hokushin pauses. "...Actually," he says, slowly, "I was going to say because there's another trip to Odaiba in the near future. But your point works as well."
"Oh."
"It's, ah, certainly less trivial."
I laugh. "Yours is still a good reason. I agree with it too."
The chimes sound. We're finally pulling into the Demon World station. The doors slide open, and we file out with the rest of the commuters.
"Thank you for all your help," says Hokushin. "See you at work tomorrow. Have a good night."
"Same to you," I reply.
He waves in a friendly manner as we part. I return the gesture. After all, repetition is the key to adapting.
Author's notes: The related artwork for this fic and series can be found on AO3 and the links in my profile.
I really wanted to write a story focused on Kirin and Hokushin, so here it is! The working title for this fic was "Boring Salaryman Story".
Kirin's Mirror of Darkness comments are a reference to stuff mentioned in the Ends of the Earth story Through A Glass Darkly. I'd like to further flesh that idea out and come up with an exciting entangled past for them for the Heian period, possibly leading into my Hokushin and Raizen prequel fancomic North Bound… but I'm still working things out in my head.
Other fun facts:
* Ramen didn't make its way to Japan (from China) till circa 17th-19th century - well after the Heian and Kamakura periods, and after the raising of the barrier.
* Odaiba is a man-made island full of interesting sights and sounds. It's where Tokyo Teleport Station (the real one) is located. All attractions mentioned are actual places on the island. Aside from Gundam Front, there's Daikanransha (the Ferris wheel) and Oedo Onsen Monogatari.
* As we all know, Raizen actually tells Yusuke to consider allying with Mukuro and watch out for Yomi just before he dies. And as we all know, like hell that happened.