Disclaimer: Yuu Watase owns Fushigi Yuugi and its respective characters. For entertainment purposes only. No profit is made from this page.
Summary: This is my one-shot! I am Ry-chou (also known as the Black Dragon! Look me up! I'm famous you know). Angst angst angst! Rated for character death.
Have fun!
~Ry-chou
Everyone showed up to the wedding, everyone. Tasuki even came to congratulate Miaka and Hotohori on their marriage. It had been 3 years already, since Tamahome was killed. Miaka mourned his death for a year straight, and Hotohori had always been there for her. That's how they fell in love, one would suppose.
Every tragic romance has a happy ending.
Or does it . . .?
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All For the One I Love . . .
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Tying his hair back into his purple braid, Nuriko walked out of his room and into the emperor's court.
"Good morning, Nuriko," Hotohori greeted warmly. Nuriko smiled pleasantly.
"Lady Miaka," Nuriko started, as Miaka walked into the room. Sitting down and sighing, she placed a hand on her stomach.
"Nuriko, I wanted to see you!" she said excitedly, beaming.
Nuriko blinked a few times, "Me, Lady Miaka?" His heart raced. Miaka had been looking for him?
"Yes, I have excellent news."
And suddenly Nuriko felt a pit in his stomach, and he thought he might be sick. He struggled to maintain his composure as Miaka told him of the news. Hotohori was beaming with pride.
"A-and you wanted to tell me? Does anyone else know?" Nuriko choked.
Miaka shook her head. "I wanted you to know first."
Nuriko walked calmly back to his room and threw up. He shed his flowered shirt and collapsed onto his bed, sobbing into his pillow for the duration of the day. He knew he should be feeling happy for Miaka, and for Hotohori, too. But for some unknown reason, all this made him feel was sick. Towards dusk he rose from his bed and looked into the mirror.
"Pitiful," he commented weakly, his voice cracked from crying. Sneaking his way to the shower unnoticed, he showered away the tear marks. Washing his face made the puffiness of his eyes not so noticeable. Though he knew a close look would reveal that he'd been crying.
Emerging from his room, he made his way to the kitchens. Much to his dismay, Hotohori and Miaka were just sitting down to dinner.
"Nuriko!" she called excitedly, making his heart pound. "Come join us!"
He opened his mouth to agree, but no sound came out. Nuriko nodded weakly. Hotohori served him politely, through Nuriko only picked at his food. Miaka took seconds, and the conversation was about the baby, of course. Throughout the meal, Nuriko realized that they hadn't noticed his eyes, and he knew that it was noticeable. Anger swept his body quicker than he was ready to handle, and he slammed down his fist. Miaka jumped.
"Nuriko? What's wr—" Hotohori started.
"You would know what was wrong," Nuriko said, struggling to control his temper, "If you'd paid one bit of attention at all."
He stood and walked away quickly, hiding the fact that hitting the table so hard had cracked it and cut his hand severely. Chichiri shook his head quietly from the shadows. For once in his life, a strong urge to intervene enveloped him. But he did not.
Later that evening, Nuriko walked outside of the palace to think. Of course, he went directly to Tamahome's grave, about a mile away from the palace. Looking down at the tombstone, he sighed.
"Here Lies Tamahome. May His Soul Live On Forever. R.I.P." Nuriko read. Kneeling down, he ran his fingers over where Miaka had taken a stone and shakily carved "Wo Ai Ni."
Shaking with anger, Nuriko spoke. "Damn you, Tamahome. Why did you have to die? Why couldn't it have been me? It would be best for everyone . . ." he trailed off. Guilt bit at him. It should have been him. That way, Miaka and Tamahome could live together, and Hotohori wouldn't have to put up with his advances.
Wiping away tears with his sleeve, he turned to walk away. Back towards the palace, of course. Obedient Nuriko, always quietly doing what everyone else says. Obedient Nuriko, standing back while everyone else loves and is loved in return. Not anymore.
Chichiri watched silently from the hall as Nuriko went to his room. Following silently, he listened. Things were obviously being thrown about the room. Inside, Nuriko was hotly searching for something. He found it eventually, underneath his bed. It was Hotohori's sword. Of course, Nuriko had stolen it from Hotohori's room, to keep it. To treasure it always.
Sliding the sword into the obi of his girl's kimono, he emerged from his room. He hadn't cross-dressed in nearly 3 years. It certainly felt different.
Chichiri followed behind in the shadows, wondering where Nuriko thought he was going with that sword. Much to Chichiri's horror, Nuriko walked into Hotohori and Miaka's bedroom. Both of them were lying in bed, asleep.
Whispering quietly, Nuriko raised his sword, "I loved you Hotohori," and brought the sword down sharply into Hotohori's chest.
"NO!" Chichiri yelled, racing into the room to stop what he knew had already been done. He was too late.
Miaka shrieked, and sprang out of bed, running for the wall. Blood was gushing from the open wound, spilling onto the sheets.
"No. . . . no! Nuriko, how could you?! What have you done!?" Miaka sobbed uncontrollably, hysterics gripping her as she realized that her husband – and the father of her unborn child – was dead.
Hotohori struggled to sit up, gasping for breath. Chichiri snatched Nuriko by the shoulders and held him back, but Nuriko was strong. He pulled the sword out of the emperor's chest, and stabbed it through again. Hotohori screamed in pain, and blood surged from his mouth.
Chichiri came from behind and smashed a decorative vase over Nuriko's head, knocking him unconscious. Pulling the sword from Hotohori's chest, he threw it to the floor.
"Emperor Hotohori?" Chichiri asked tentatively. Miaka ran over and kneeled on the bed, in a pool of blood, beside her husband.
"H-Hotohori?" she choked, sobbing. He was gasping for air.
"Hotohori, please don't leave me . . . I love you! I love you, you hear me?! You can't go!" she sobbed hysterically, tears falling freely from her eyes. Hotohori nodded with the last of his energy, and mouthed, "I love you," back to her.
Chichiri held Miaka's hand and pulled her away. "No! No, let me go! He's all right! Let me go!" She shrieked. Chichiri kept a solemn face and pulled her out of the room.
"Come, Lady Miaka," he said shakily, "You should get cleaned up."
After a considerable amount of calming down, some servants managed to coax Miaka into the showers. Chichiri walked back into the emperor's room, wincing at the sight. Nuriko had been tied up and taken to his room—that was the next stop. Servants were busily cleaning up the mess, and most of them were crying.
"His majesty never bore a son," someone was sniffling sadly. "What shall we do?"
Chichiri didn't bother to tell them that Miaka was pregnant. He turned out of the room, wiping away a solitary tear from his right eye.
He slid open the door and peered in. Nuriko was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. The attack had happened roughly four hours ago, so Nuriko had awoken and recovered from the blow to the head. However no one had bothered to help clean him up, or even untie him.
"Chichiri, I know what you're thinking," he said. Chichiri said nothing.
"I know they're going to kill me."
Suddenly Chichiri wondered if this was the motive. "You did this so that they'd kill you?"
Nuriko shook his head weakly. "No. I regret what I did. It upset Miaka, didn't it?"
Chichiri didn't say anything.
"Didn't it?!" Nuriko demanded.
"Yes," Chichiri answered hesitantly.
And with that, Nuriko started to cry again. Chichiri didn't know weather to comfort him or not. After a few minutes, he sat down beside Nuriko.
Looking up, Nuriko mumbled, "I am so sorry . . ." and that was all he could manage.
A few days later, Nuriko's trial was held. Chichiri and Miaka weren't necessary for the trial, because the servants' testimonies were all the evidence needed to convict Nuriko.
Whispers of the residents of Hong-Nan could be heard as the trial was over. "There was always something wrong with that one." And, "He was living in the harem!"
Nuriko's death sentence was scheduled for the next morning. Guards stood at the door to his room, and at all the windows, to prevent escape. Nuriko stood, staring into the mirror, for nearly three hours. He stood up solemnly, and walked into his bathroom. On a piece of paper he wrote:
Miaka,
I am sorry for what I did. I am sincerely happy for you and Hotohori, and I give you best of wishes on the baby. I regret to say that I will not be able to help you raise it. Please don't do anything stupid, and don't let it get sick. I hope you will miss me as much as I will miss you. Though it has taken me so long to realize it, Miaka . . .
Wo Ai Ni.
-Nuriko
From a bathroom drawer he removed a pair of scissors, which he'd always used to trim split ends on his hair. He sliced his finger and placed a drop of his blood in the letter, sealing it with his sincerity. He lie down in the shower, and held the scissors to his wrist. Shaking with fear, he thought at least I won't make a mess for them to clean.
Pulling the scissors back, he closed his eyes tight and stabbed them into his wrist. Letting out a yelp of pain, hot tears stung his eyes. He struggled to pull the scissors from his wrist. They came out with a sickening sucking sound. He jammed them into his other wrist, shivering as the pain of his broken wrist coursed through his body. Then he lay back and waited for death.
Am I dead? He thought. A bright light seemed to be coming closer and closer . . . until he could make out the shape of a beautiful golden gate. A young girl was standing behind them.
"K-Kang-Lin?!" he gasped in disbelief. She smiled gently and nodded. He ran to the gate, and hugged her through it.
"I missed you so, baby sister," he sniffed back tears, for her sake.
"I know, I know," she said sympathetically. "And I am sorry."
"Sorry for dying? I don't hold you responsible . . ." he told her, wiping away a tear and beaming happily. "Now we can be together forever!"
"No," she said sadly. "I'm afraid not."
"W-what?"
"You killed Hotohori," she said, "and yourself."
Nuriko's eyes widened. "You mean---?"
"Yes," tears rolled down her cheeks slowly. "I will watch over you. Goodbye, brother."
"No!" Nuriko cried. "Don't leave me!"
But the vision faded away to black.
Five Years Later
Miaka stood over Nuriko's grave, and placed flowers down above it. She had done the same for Tamahome, who rested beside Nuriko. Holding her hands were two small children, her son and daughter. Roughly nine months after her husband's death, she had given birth to twins.
"Mommy," asked the little girl. "Who is that?"
Holding back a tear, Miaka answered, "That was a family friend of your father and me."
The boy pointed to the third grave, the one that had no flowers on it yet. "And that one?"
"That is your father's resting place," Miaka managed. The little girl stood above her father's grave, her face expressionless, and put her hands together to pray. The little boy followed her example.
Miaka left her children to pray over their graves. She didn't know why they always came to pay respects on the anniversary of Nuriko's death. Walking over to a nearby tree, she leaned against it and cried quietly. She shed tears for her lost love. . . or was it loves? She didn't even know anymore. A few minutes passed as she let out her feelings, and then she decided to get back to the palace.
"Kang-Lin! Ryuuen! We should get going," at the mention of her son and daughter's names, she had to choke back another sob. She took their hands and walked away, walking the mile along that dusty path back to the palace.
Chichiri walked out from the shadows of the trees, to pay his respects. Standing over all three of the graves, he said, "I'll miss you guys, more than you could ever know. But Miaka will miss you even more than that. I'm sorry you had to go through such sadness in your life. Especially you . . . Nuriko."
Shaking his head sadly, he only prayed that Nuriko had gone on to a better place, as he knew Tamahome and Hotohori had. As a monk, he could be almost certain that . . . no. Mustn't think about it that way. He put his hands together in prayer for his three lost comrades. I'll miss you guys, he thought.
End
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Whaddaya think? I'm so angsty. Review me, kay? Don't even start with me about the end. I can't end stories, okay?!
~Ry-chou
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