Dream
I
He would return to this planet as often as possible. He had been given the device that made it possible to see inside the tube all the time, yet looking from the other side of the galaxy, although convinced him that his vision was indeed being realized, couldn't compare to actually being here, where only one layer of glass separated him from his dream. He could stand in this place for hours, never taking his gaze off the shape behind the pane. The staff members of the laboratory would disappear from his sight, and those who were somewhere else would be forgotten entirely - as if there was no-one but the two of them in the universe. In his universe, it was so indeed.
Sometimes, he would rest his hand against the smooth surface and couldn't wait to touch what was behind He could almost feel a pulsation beneath his fingertips - a heartbeat - and imagined he would soon feel it for real. He kept staring at the fair hair, floating gently in the liquid that filled the container and surrounding the face that for him was the image of sheer beauty, and thought about the first smile that would lighten that face upon seeing him. The vision was overwhelming, and he had to press his both arms to his body in order to overcome the shiver that could tear him to pieces, or so it seemed to him.
The time didn't matter; it appeared to fly. The person inside the capsule kept changing so fast that, whenever he came here to have a look, it seemed that years had passed since the last time. It soothed the impatient yearning, although the very view could compensate, too. Evolution from one cell... no, from one molecule that had been attached to another and yet another, creating the strands of the genetic code, and then proteins, cells and organs... Embryo, child, teenager, adult... He would observe it with his only eye and feel as if the life developing inside the glass tube was there thanks to him. In a way, it was the truth.
'You are mine,' he would thought, and the whole sense came down to those words.
The atmosphere in the flagship of the Kiheitai was relaxing, but Matako couldn't really give to it. On one hand, she liked that lounge - or how to call the room they used to spend their time while having no other occupation. It was quite cosy, for the headquarters of a terrorist organisation, with those soft couches and armchairs, that bright tapestry and drinks cupboard. It served as a living room, sometimes even a dining room, and as a place to hold the informal council meetings, if they felt like doing so. When they travelled - and the space journeys used to be long - it was more sensible to come here instead of staying in one's own cabin.
On the other hand, Matako considered herself a person of action and didn't like to sit on her butt, especially when they happened to anchor. Like now. They had been on this planet for a few days already, yet they hadn't been given any orders, to say nothing of explanation, except that they were to stay onboard. No fun. Having nothing else to do, Matako spent her time in the lounge, cleaning her revolvers, but she wasn't very pleased with that since it was two older guys keeping her company, and they were quite unable to have a normal conversation with... Not that Bansai was that different; well, he wasn't old, and definitely was sharper that those two together, but he rarely spoke more than a few words, so it was the same.
No, she didn't feel like talking to them in the slightest, but the silence was even worse. It would be a different thing if it was Shinsuke in question; with him, she could be silent for all eternity... This, however, brought to her mind the main cause why she couldn't really relax today.
"We visit this planet awfully often, don't we, Senpai?" she spoke casually, loading the gun. "And every time Shinsuke-sama leaves for hours, without telling me the reason..."
"Whyever should he talk to the brainless?" Nizō asked from his armchair, checking the edge of his katana with his thumb.
Matako pointed one gun at his forehead. "It seems you want to turn brainless yourself," she snarled, cocking the hammer. "And very soon."
"You need someone of your level so much? Sorry, I'm not interested," he replied dismissively, without bothering to even raise his head.
Now it was two barrels looking at him, though, of course, he couldn't see it. "One day I'm going to blow your head off. It escapes me why Shinsuke-sama deals with such a boor when-" She stopped.
"When he has you? That's what you wanted to say?" Nizō laughed jeeringly. "Now think yourself, what it says about your... ah, finesse that he's forced to 'deal' with the likes of me. But frankly... You really think you're the most classy person in the universe...? Don't make me laugh."
The bullet missed his temple by millimetres and stuck in the wall. Nizō didn't even wince.
"Calm down, please," Takechi spoke, never taking his eyes off the local newspaper. "Shinsuke-dono does business on this planet. It's only natural he goes out often."
Matako gave him a look, putting the gun in the holsters and sitting on the couch again. "What business? Something related to the Kiheitai?"
"Does Shinsuke-dono ever do anything unrelated to the Kiheitai?" Takechi replied with a question.
"All the time," Nizō expressed his opinion, dodging another bullet. "I won't be surprised if one day he just leaves us and disappears with someone. No, not with you, emptyhead," he added, guessing Matako's line of thought.
She blushed but this time didn't yield to provocation. Instead, she cast him a disdainful glance. "I see it still pains you that Shinsuke-sama doesn't feel like treating you as his fellow," she responded maliciously, making Nizō grunt involuntarily. "Don't fancy that you're special to him... that he values you more than me," she added in a cold voice. "Never think you're better than me. We are in the same boat," she said bitterly, although she hadn't intended to.
She knew well that the leader of the Kiheitai cared about her as much as he cared about the air, yet she continued in her efforts to deserve his attention and one day maybe even kindle some warmer feelings in him...
Yeah, sure, she might as well wish for a planet on her own, or a musical talent. Okay, at least a planet seemed more possible than the stupid desires of her heart. She shook her head. Fortunately, Nizō finally shut up and occupied himself with the sword.
"Then? What about that business?" he returned to the topic, looking at Takechi again. "Something big? Recruiting new members? Maybe some weapon?" she guessed.
"Probably," came the reply from behind the paper.
"You seem very interested in the local news," she said innocently and then, with a quick move, tore the paper from his hands, revealing the actual read of the head strategist of the Kiheitai: a magazine featuring very under aged girls.
"Pervert," she threw with disgust. "Pedophile."
"It's not pedophile; it's a feminist," he corrected her with dignity. "As for Shinsuke-dono's business... Some years ago he transferred a considerable amount of money to a bank account of a local company," he confessed and grew silent again.
Matako blinked. "And?" she inquired when he said no more. "That's all you know? Senpai, you're useless," she expressed her disappointment. "What company? What do they deal in? You managed to learn that much, didn't you?"
Takechi didn't seem offended with her reproval. "Such information are classified," he explained patiently as if he was speaking to a kid. "I only know that it's a local corporation in question; the number indicates so... And, besides, Shinsuke-dono ordered not to poke into it," he supplied.
Matako looked at him in disbelief. "I'm surrounded by idiots," she decided. "Where's Bansai-senpai?" he called, adding in thought, 'when I need him.'
Takechi shrugged. "You saw them leaving earlier, haven't you?"
"I don't like this place," she said in a quiet voice, folding her arms. "I don't like it that Shinsuke-sama goes out and no-one knows what for. He should take me along, I could protect him..." he whispered thoughtfully.
"Shinsuke-dono is able to protect himself perfectly well." Takechi stated the obvious, which didn't make her feel any better.
"Bighead," Nizō threw.
"Don't you start again," Matako snapped at him, but she no longer felt like playing with him.
"It's lovely that you care about him so much," Takechi said in a bored voice, and she asked herself if there was a taunt to his words or not. "If it reassures you, Bansai is with him."
"One good revolver is better than ten swords," she replied defiantly, crossing her legs.
The two samurai looked at her sternly, even reproachfully, but she only held her nose higher. That was what she thought... even though she probably wouldn't dare to say it around Shinsuke.
"Say what you want," Takechi responded in the end, turning the page in the magazine, "but every time we come here Shinsuke-dono becomes more..." he paused as if to seek for a right word, "cheerful," he said, but his statement sounded strange.
"And he forgets us completely," Matako replied with a glum; not that it was anything new.
"Maybe he found the love of his life on this planet?" Nizō suggested.
She ignored him; such remarks only made her feel worse. She looked outside the window, but the mat surface didn't let her see the scenery of the city, so she decided to go out on deck - it was suffocating inside. And it was better for her to leave those morons alone, so that their idiocy wouldn't catch onto her.
He discovered anew - remembered again - that sweet feeling of anticipation. It had been years... half of life, maybe even a whole life... since the last time he'd experienced it. Calmness and excitement at the same time; he'd lacked both, as well as many other emotions, for the emptiness had devoured everything. Now it felt as if his existence started anew, and this day meant a beginning of a new galactic era in his own universe.
They walked through the corridors of the familiar facility - Bansai always half step behind him - though he couldn't really see it. Someone talked to him, someone else instructed him... but his mind barely registered it. His heart was beating hard, and he was a little boy again, sent to the school. He could still remember the day he had walked to meet his teacher for the first time, and it seemed to him the time flew back. But no, the time had passed, and his feelings had been amplified... He had long since ceased being that boy who could never hold what had been the most dear to him.
He was asked to the room. He ordered Bansai to stay outside. There was no-one here... except for him. He was sitting on the couch and looking ahead. The door shut with a barely audible noise, yet it was enough to make him turned his head. And then he got up and stood before him. Tall, always taller. Fair hair falling onto the white clothes. Shining eyes.
"Shinsuke," he said and smiled.
He thought he could die from the happiness. But he didn't intend to; there was a whole new life ahead. He overcame a sudden dizziness, passed over a painful pang in his chest and forced his voice to be even.
"Come," he said and stretched his hand; it almost didn't tremble at all.
Shōyō took it, and the universe became complete again.
There were hardly any steps in the corridor before the door was opened. Matako lifted her head and beamed. "Shinsuke-sa-" she started, jumping to her feet, yet stopped abruptly upon seeing that the leader of the Kiheitai wasn't alone.
He came inside, followed by a man in a light-coloured kimono. Bansai entered after them, his face as blank as ever.
"Shinsuke-sama...?" Matako repeated hesitantly as the silence prolonged.
He looked at her, but she could as well be invisible. It was not what surprised her; he used to gave her such a look, but today there was something strange to his gaze, some distraction instead of his usual alertness, as if he was somewhere else... with someone else... and felt good about it.
Her eyes darted to his companion. Who could that be? A new ally? A business partner? She had never seen him before. He looked like a human from Earth, from Japan, still very young - and something in his posture told her he was a samurai, even though he didn't carry a sword. He was standing straight, tall and neatly built but quite slender. If she didn't have eyes only for one men, she would say he was very handsome with those long fair hair and serene expression. But she didn't know how to read that peaceful look on his face, and she pretty much couldn't say anything about him. If he spoke, she might be able to figure out what kind of person he was...
However, the stranger remained silent and didn't even introduce himself, although he must have realized he was the centre of attention. Actually, he didn't do anything at all, only stared - like all of them did. They probably looked like idiots: a group of people in one room with no-one doing as much as a gesture. Was it only she that thought of the situation as grotesque? Not likely - the silence behind her back indicated that Takechi-senpai and Nizō also had no idea what it was about. 'Could anyone explain me anything?" she wanted to call but didn't dare. Later, she understood all that had lasted but a one moment, yet that very time it seemed to stretch into infinity, as if wanting to emphasize its own meaning even though they weren't aware of it yet.
She looked at Shinsuke again, and for some reason she was struck by the contrast between the leader of the Kiheitai - short, dark-haired, clad in colourful and patterned kimono - and his companion, but at the same time it seemed they had awfully much in common. She felt dizzy from all that unknown. What happened next only confirmed the absurdness of the whole situation.
"I..." Shinsuke started, as if he planned to make some statement, but then he stopped. He glanced at the stranger and shook his head... and then, saying no more, he made for his quarters, followed by the man.
When the door shut behind the two of them, the silence continued - so profound that Matako could hear the noises from the depth of the ship. For a moment, no-one moved, as if they were rooted to the spots and would remain a still nature for ever. Finally, Bansai approached the drinks cupboard and pour himself some brandy, then drank it in one draught. Afterwards, he sat down on the couch by the window and started to pluck his shamisen.
Matako clenched her fists and turned to the other two. If not for their confused expressions - her own was most likely equally stupid - she would think she was seeing a twisted dream. Their reactions proved that what had just happened was beyond not only her comprehension. Only why? she wondered. The leader had returned to the ship and brought a visitor - what was so strange about it? Why should it... shock her... and all the rest, so much? She had no idea, and it annoyed her, but even more it amazed her.
"Who was that...?" she asked and was surprised to hear how hoarse her voice was. She cleared her throat.
Of course, neither Takechi nor Nizō could answer her, so she looked at Bansai again. The man kept playing, his gaze down. She fell on the couch and focused her sight on him; undoubtedly, he was the only person here who could give an explanation. And he would do it; all it took was to be patient with him. True, it wasn't her strong point, but a warrior should always work to improve one's own weakness. Or something like that.
"Bansai-senpai...?" she said cautiously. It was better not to startle him, especially that today - she realized it - he was quite irritated. Yet, he was sitting here with them, and that proved something.
"Yoshida Shōyō," he answered after a while, his voice detached.
Takechi gave a muffled mutter, and even Nizō stirred restlessly, but, for her part, she wasn't any wiser; the name said nothing. Still, it was some progress that the others apparently knew something. She felt her numbness go away; at last, she could occupy herself with something. "Who is that?" she demanded, looking at Takechi.
"His teacher," came the concise answer. "But how-"
"Teacher?" she interrupted him. "He looked younger."
"It's not the point," Takechi went on, approaching the computer and running his fingers over the keyboard. "See yourself."
Matako rose and came near the monitor. The picture showed the very same man they had just seen. "It's really him," she murmured. "But how can he be his teacher? He's not growing old, or what? Show me, when was he born?" she ordered. "You see? It's impossible. He's nine years older that-" She stopped abruptly as her eyes jumped to the next row of data.
"Yoshida Shōyō was put to death by Bakufu during the war," Nizō said, sitting down in his armchair again.
'He died so young,' was her first thought before she remembered the more important issue.
"If he died, then what is he doing here?" she asked. "No." She pressed her fingers to her forehead, trying to focus. "Who was that man?" She turned to Bansai again. "Why did you say it was Yoshida Shōyō?"
Bansai, however, kept ignoring her. She overcame a sudden impulse to shake him and make him speak. She knew it wouldn't do; Bansai used to talk only when he wanted.
"Damn it!" she shouted, taking out her guns and pointing them at his head, only to relieve her frustration. Bansai didn't even glance at her.
She muffled another curse. Her patience must have run down already; she never had much of it anyway... The problem was that, even if she blew off the whole ship, it would hardly provide any answers. She put the guns away and sat back on the coach. Folding her arms, she looked at the door that Shinsuke and his guest had disappear behind. No-one was speaking again. She was really surrounded by idiots.
"So, Shinsuke-sama found, maybe even on this planet, a man looking like his late teacher," she reasoned aloud, unable to stand the silence; Bansai's shamisen didn't help at all. "I heard that all people have their double somewhere... And now what? What is he going to do with him?" she inquired, trying to forget that in 'Yoshida's' company Shinsuke seemed much too distracted for her taste.
"Maybe he wants to recruit him...?" Nizō suggested mockingly.
Fine, it was better than that stifling silence. Mocking Nizō proved that the world was still quite all right.
"Maybe it is Yoshida, after all?" she resumed. "Maybe he managed to run away and wasn't executed?" she speculated. "The universe is vast. Maybe he managed to hide?"
Takechi muttered in disaproval. "It says he was decapitated and buried in a mass grave, while his head was displayed to the public," he supplied.
"Bastards," Matako blurted.
"The man like him wouldn't run away," Nizō inserted, "only give anything for his cause."
"Cause? So he was one of the Jōi?" she asked, swallowing her pride; at the moment, getting information had the priority over hiding her own ignorance.
"Well, he wasn't," Takechi replied. "He ran a school where he taught kenjutsu and bushidō. Many of his students joined the Jōi later."
"Shinsuke-sama has never spoke of this..."
"Has he ever spoke of anything with us?" Nizō sneered, but there was some bitterness to his words.
She didn't answer. It was true; Shinsuke never shared his thoughts or opinions, or his past with them. The only person who seemed to know him better was Bansai, who had been accompanying him from the very start of the resurrected Kiheitai, even before the three of them joined the organisation. But getting any information out of Bansai, when the man didn't want to disclose it, was as easy as making Earth rotate in the opposite direction. Of course, she didn't plan to give up, nor was she going to succumb to despondency resulting from the way Shinsuke used to treat them. It had always been like that, so why should she start and mourn it now? Doing so would be useless.
"Senpai...!" she called to Bansai. "I'm sure you may tell us more...? It obviously eats you, but what's the point in fretting alone?" she tried to persuade him. "You are so smart, while we sit here like a bunch of halfwits and can't figure it out," she flattered him. "What is it about?"
Bansai stopped playing and looked at her from behind his sunglasses. His face was as emotionless as always, but she couldn't shake off the feeling he was pretty glum today. "Why don't you ask him yourself?" he dawdled.
She jumped to her feet. He'd said it! "You're a damn buffoon, Senpai!" she shouted, forgetting all civility. "You bet I'm going to!" she added, approaching the door.
Well, she was't really - she was sane enough not to risk Shinsuke's anger - but it was worth to try a little provocation. And she was right, for Bansai put the shamisen down and focused his eyes on her. "You shouldn't," he said, and there was some emotion to his words now.
"I have no choice since you won't tell my anything, Senpai," she replied with spite that wasn't entirely faked, and put one hand on the handle.
In a swift move, he appeared by her side and pulled her away from the door. She didn't resist, congratulating herself a success - a small one, but it was a good start anyway.
When the door closed and there was no-one but them in the world again, Shinsuke turned and looked. It seemed to him he would never have enough, and sometimes a painful fear pierced his heart, a fear that it was just a dream and he would wake up any moment. But the dream continued, and the fulfilment of his desires was standing before him and staring gently, driving all worries away. It was so hard to gather his thoughts under that gaze, so hard to grasp the reality... But maybe he didn't really need it? Just like he needn't overcome that shiver filling every cell of his body. For a moment, he didn't know what he should do - and then he thought he didn't need to know and that there was no should. He came closer, almost tripping, until he was right by the man whose existence was still so unbelievable. He raised his head and looked into those shining eyes, then lowered his gaze and rested his forehead on the man's shoulder.
"I will never let you go away," he whispered in a strangled voice. "Never again... Sensei."
Shōyō embraced him and stroke his hair; the caress was so gentle it seemed unearthly.
"Shinsuke..." the soft voice spoke his name, and yet another moment became perfect.
His face pressed in the light fabric of haori, he raised his hands and moved them up Shōyō's back, for the first time - for ever - clasping his desires in his arms.
Matako sat down on the coach and stared at Bansai, awaiting the revelations he was going to bestow on her - or maybe not? For Bansai, after a while of hesitation, took his place as well... then grabbed his shamisen and resumed playing. Matako exchanged looks with Takechi and sighed. "Bansai-senpai, you're acting is ridiculous," she said, but her words lacked its usual edge.
Now she was sure Bansai was much more upset than he wanted to show, and that indicated that the matter was really serious. A fleeting thought occurred to her that she might be better off not knowing about it, not meddling... She clasped her hands. Was it so bad for her as it was now? Sure, Shinsuke used to ignore her for most of the time, but every now and then she would be useful to him. She didn't want to lose her position in the Kiheitai - and if she pursued the issue that made uncomfortable Bansai, such could be the end. Maybe it was better to keep quiet, after all...
'What is that funk, Kijima Matako?' she reproached herself, snapping her head. 'Shinsuke-sama doesn't need cowards. You are his Crimson Bullet or not? Of course you want to know. You want to know everything about him. Especially why some stray turned his head now...'
She got up again, but this time she walked to the drinks cupboard and poured some brandy to two glasses, offering one to Bansai. He gave her an astonished look; keeping the mask of impassivity proved to be harder every moment. She pulled herself a chair and sat down; all it took was to wait a bit.
Quiet clatter of the keyboard filled the room; Takechi resumed browsing the data. "I suppose our frequent trips to this planet had something to do with that young man we saw with Shinsuke-dono," he said calmly. "I'd even assume that his presence is of considerable significance to Shinsuke-dono."
"The question is whether it's of significance to the Kiheitai as well," Nizō inserted.
"If you have something to say, say it plainly and don't beat around the bush," Matako looked at him with a frown.
"Remember what I told you about finding the love of his life?" he replied with a sneer. "Hey, you wanted it," he added as she flung an empty glass at him; he had no problem with dodging it.
"I told you to talk sense, not such a rubbish!" she called. Bansai put his glass down on the table a bit too loud. She cast a glance at him and then glared at Nizō again. "Don't you dare to talk about Shinsuke-sama that way," she warned him.
Nizō shrugged; he didn't care about her threats in the slightest. "We know nothing of him," he pointed out. "We've been with him for years, yet we still know nothing of him," he repeated angrily. "He may as well practise shudō. You should be happy," he added wryly. "It explains why he remained immune to your charm. It's a better reason than that you're so ugly he wouldn't touch you even if you were the last female in the universe, isn't it?"
She was too engrossed in what he suggested to care about his insolence that was nothing new after all. Again, she stared at the door leading to the leader's quarters. It was utterly absurd and by no means could be true... But... Her imagination had always been easily moved. She clutched her fingers on the fabric of her clothes. Did they... Did they really... do what Nizō implied? She couldn't even tell whether the thought disgusted her or the contrary, which was disturbing in and of itself. Still, she felt growing urge to get up and look into Shinsuke's cabin.
No, it was impossible. Absolutely impossible. There had to be another explanation.
"Takechi-senpai, what do you think about it?" she asked.
"Not my taste."
"We know your taste all too well, and we don't want to hear about it at all," she retorted. "I asked about your opinion on what is happening here."
"Shinsuke-dono's private life is of no interest to me," came the laconic answer.
"Honestly! Can't you think of anything else?" she called in exasperation. "There's really no other option? He just brought himself a guy to... to..." She paused, feeling a blush creeping onto her face.
No, Shinsuke-sama couldn't... Not him...! If it was true, then what was left for her? Only a bullet to the head. Sure, she could pretend and say that all she needed was his presence, that she admired him and would follow him everywhere, regardless of anything, and so on - but she couldn't deceive herself. What she wanted to do with Shinsuke was much more concrete that those clichéd ideals and bombastic declarations. And Shinsuke liked men?
Some part of her mind tried to convince her that it was some progress, for until now Shinsuke had appeared completely devoid of such needs, but, frankly, it was no comfort at all in her case.
No, no, it was all complete nonsense. She slapped herself on both cheeks. 'Matako, calm down. It's only your vivid imaginary,' she told herself. 'You're all too affected by that jerk Nizō.' The very thought made her feel sick, and she considered risking Shinsuke's wrath by depriving him of one of his useless subordinates...
"It's not like that," Bansai, whom she'd managed to forget in the meantime, spoke.
She turned and looked at him like at a saviour. "What is?" she asked ravenously. Bansai pressed his lips in a thin line, obviously displeased with himself. "What's not like that?" she repeated with emphasis.
If it was not like that then maybe she still had some chance... He might finally explain it to them! She thought distractedly that Bansai should be responsible for interrogating the prisoners; he would break anyone in no time...
"From the very start, I've been wondering what kind of business the Kiheitai could have on this planet," came from Takechi's side; the man kept staring at the monitor. "There is no arms industry here. The economy is supported by the big corporations involved in the service sector. Many hospitals and plastic surgery clinics... Quite a lot of various laboratories, mostly offering cosmetic solutions..." he enumerated. "I thought that it may have something to do with Shinsuke-dono's disability..."
"It's your brain that is disable," Matako retorted. "What are you talking about?"
"His left eye, of course," Takechi replied, regarding her as a half-wit.
Ah, that. Matako didn't pay attention to that minute defect in Shinsuke's looks. No, she never considered it a defect in the first place. With the eye or without it, Shinsuke was Shinsuke. Even more without, so much had she grown used to it.
"So? That guy is his oculist?" she sneered. "Senpai, be serious. I'd rather believe that version with his lover," she blurted, then clenched her teeth and thought she would go crazy any moment.
She was surrounded by idiots, and it had a bad effect on her.
"It has to do with that," Bansai murmured.
She looked at him again. "What?"
Bansai, however, got up and, without a word, poured himself another glass of brandy. Matako felt like strangling him. She was trying to have a sensible conversation... to learn something, yet that man just had to throw her off-balance with his allusions, making her lose hers thread.
"That's interesting," Takechi spoke. "That could be it," he repeated thoughtfully, reading the data.
"What? The best brothel in the universe?" she replied exasperated. Suddenly, she jumped to her feet and began to pace the room with her arms folded. "Why would Shinsuke need a guy if he has me?" she muttered under her breath, fully aware that she's acting like a five-year-old kid.
Nizō snorted with laughter but said nothing. She sat down again, sulking. "So? What have you found, Takechi-hentai?" she called.
"It's not hentai; it's senpai. One of the most profit-making enterprises in this part of the galaxy," he said, staring at the display with letters and pictures flashing on it. "A reproduction centre."
"Reproduction? What do you mean?" Matako knitted her brows, driving away the thought that she would gladly reproduce with Shinsuke, while now the chances for it dropped at the absolute zero level.
"It seems they deal in making copies..." Takechi kept reading. "Human copies," he qualified. "And of other humanoid races, too."
"How's that?" She frowned even more. "Copies? They grow people? Like, on request? They take order or something?" she guessed. Bansai uttered a murmur, but she ignored him, absorbed in a sudden vision. If she couldn't have Shinsuke, then maybe she could settle with his copy, just for her own? But if Shinsuke preferred boys, then his copy would likely too... Damn it!
"There's even a price list..." Takechi informed, opening another file, and then cleared his throat. "You couldn't afford it," he added with reserve that actually said more about the costs than his words.
"Now we know where our money goes," Nizō stated reluctantly after a longer silence.
"Even if you're right, I'm going to smash your face," Matako responded, returning to the main problem. "How dare you talk about Shinsuke-sama like that? He is a boss here, the boss of the Kiheitai, and he has every right to spend his money as he pleases to," she added, but there was some crack to her words.
Nizō's head snapped as the man turned his face towards her. "No, I really don't think that the Kiheitai work for the leader's rent-boys."
"Stop it," Bansai spoke, getting up and approaching the window. "It's not like that," he repeated.
"Then tell us how it is!" Matako shouted in exasperation. "And before that have a drink," she suggested. "Alcohol looses tongues."
"Not in his case," Nizō inserted in an undertone. "He stops talking altogether."
"I'm not that drunk yet," Bansai retorted with some dignity.
Matako stared at him in disbelief. No-one got drunk after three glasses of brandy, so why even mention about it? "Bansai-senpai," she asked point-blank. "Is it true? Did Shinsuke-sama really ordered..." She frowned again, trying to gather her thoughts and bring all they knew together, little as it was. "Instructed... ordered... whatever. Did he ordered a copy... of his old master? And paid with the money of the Kiheitai?" It sounded strange even spoken aloud, and she was certain to get a negative answer that could move that conversation in a more sensible direction, whatever it might be.
Bansai, however, didn't turn from the window, even though he could barely see anything outside, and shrugged. "He did, so what?"
The silence filled the room.
So what? 'Yeah, so what?' Matako asked herself as despondency overtook her. What should she do about it? What could she do about it? The answer came to her mind automatically: nothing. She had never had any influence on Shinsuke's actions. For most of the time, she couldn't shake off the impression he didn't really see her. Not that she was alone; Shinsuke would treat everyone this way, maybe except for Bansai, whom he seemed to favour a bit...
Ah, it didn't matter. Her eyes darted to the door she's been glancing at for so many times during this talk, but now she did it with some despair.
"I don't really care about it," Bansai kept talking, "but calling him a 'rent-boy' is disrespectful." He cast a cold glance at Nizō. "Shinsuke paid much more. In fact, if you need to know, he sacrificed his eye for him. You probably thought he'd lost it back in the war...?" he asked somewhat triumphantly; now it was obvious he had got drunk after three glasses of brandy indeed. "No, he gave it away of his free will and gladly for having his visions realized. But how could you know it since it happened long ago? Before you even came here," he emphasized, probably without noticing it himself.
"Bansai-senpai, you're much more sensitive you show it," Matako said without a second thought when she realized the truth she'd been oblivious to until now. But why should she notice it now? And why should she be concerned about it in the first place? Maybe because it was easier to focus on Bansai than on his words about Shinsuke since they were so overwhelming. "You really care about him, you really do," she admitted with some surprise and then thought she could understand his behaviour much better.
Bansai cast her a resentful yet disconcerted look and pressed his lips. It seemed a hint of blush coloured his cheeks. Matako placed one hand on her forehead, finally taking in what he'd just said. She tried to escape it but couldn't; the facts kept flooding into her mind, and she was unable to shield against them. She felt very tired; there was too much surprise for one day. A stranger... a clone? Shinsuke, who hadn't lost his eye in the war like she'd always believed... And caring Bansai... Too much indeed. Usually, she would be mad at herself for even thinking like this, but now it was all the same to her. As if the world suddenly lost any sense.
It was not about Shinsuke's using the funds of the Kiheitai to indulge his own whims, or so it seemed; just like she had stated: he had a right to do so, and it was not their business. No, it was about... some fundamental trust. Sure, Shinsuke had always seen them as tools and never cared about their opinions or feelings. She was all too used to it, as she was to that peculiar rivalry for his favour taking place in their group, but now that balance had been upset by a stranger... an outsider. How could they relate to it? How could they... get back their former stability, now that it seemed that Shinsuke had gone light-years from them and found something - someone - of much greater value? How could they fight it? They had no chance...
She forced herself for recollect Bansai's words. Something, maybe a need for self-torture, made her ask, "So? Who is that man to him?" She wasn't sure whether she wanted to know the answer; after all, they were talking about someone Shinsuke sacrificed so much it was hard to comprehend.
Bansai turned to the window again; the darkness was slowly falling outside. "Everything," he replied in a low voice, but she could clearly hear the regret in his words.
Never before had she sympathized with him so much. Still, it couldn't improve her mood, and she felt worse with every passing moment. Her typical vigour was gone now, replaced by sense of resignation... and hopelessness... and feeling that it wouldn't get better in a while, neither in one hour nor tomorrow.
II
It was as if every moment of absolute happiness was closing, little by little, the wound in his soul that had been bleeding all those years. And every moment was happiness indeed, ever deeper and deeper. Touch, breath, smell. Voice. Swooned, intoxicated, he was floating in the reality narrowed to just two of them. The world had vanished, there was no need for it. Never before had he experienced such ecstasy, such bliss, and feeling he wished nothing more because all his desires had been fulfilled and were here. Finally, he was at peace; hurry, impatience or frantic search didn't exist here. He was lying with his head on Sensei's lap, and Sensei was stroking his hair gently and talking to him in soft voice, every word full of smile. He was dreaming the most perfect dream and didn't intend to wake up from it.
The atmosphere in the Kiheitai headquarters was far from cheerful. Matako, listless, spent her days on the couch, speaking to no-one and unresponsive to Nizō's taunts. Before long, Nizō left her alone and withdraw into himself, too. Bansai had never been talkative in the first place; after his isolated spell of logorrhoea that day, which should be put down to alcohol anyway, he turned mute and limited the conversation with the rest to the absolute minimum. It had been like that for several weeks now, exactly since Shinsuke had returned to the ship with his companion, then locked himself with him in his room and stopped showing his face to them. Not that it was anything new; they were used to not seeing their leader very often, but now his absence had a reason they couldn't accept, even though they had to. They had been presented with a fait accompli and had no say in it. Like always - but never before had they felt so unimportant to their boss.
The organisation, however, had to function, even if the leader occupied himself with something else. Matako and Nizō could mope as much as they wanted (though Henpeita doubted they did want) - they were responsible rather for executing the tasks than planning them, and now there were no tasks at all - but Bansai and he answered for thinking and developing strategy. It was only natural that Bansai, as Shinsuke's right hand, had assumed a temporal leadership; maybe he'd been even instructed to do so beforehand. They had set sail from that planet as soon as the day following that eventful one - as if nothing had happened - and continued their journey towards their next destination.
However, as the day passed, Henpeita wondered whether Shinsuke would ever leave his quarters again - since it seemed he had forgot completely about them, the organisation and its goals, and the whole universe altogether. Henpeita was still of the opinion that the leader's private life was his own business - he even thought that the more pleased leader, the better for his subordinates - but if it were to completely dominate Shinsuke's actions, he had to admit he didn't feel good about it. That the young commander of the Kiheitai wasn't a man of half-measures had been clear for a longer while; however, while they could gain from it before, now they apparently fell victims to it. 'A samurai should not yield to the passions,' said the code. Not so long ago, Henpeita would make little of that principle, but now, having experienced the negative effect firsthand, he started to ask himself whether bushidō wasn't right after all. How long could the Kiheitai continue with the complete lack of interest of its leader... in the absence of the leader, who might be here physically - only a few steps away, right on the other side of the wall - but someplace else in spirit? Henpeita feared that the organisation wouldn't make it if the status quo prolonged.
All he could do was to believe that it was just a passing phase. Henpeita wouldn't say it aloud, but as he entered the lounge every morning, he did it in hope that today was the day Takasugi Shinsuke would appear in the door he had disappeared behind a few weeks earlier, and everything would be back to normal.
It was a splendid thing to wake up and look in that serene face next to his. He could do it all the time. Finally, he ceased delaying to fall asleep, fearing that the vision would disappear - but these moments were worth sleeping, too. Sometimes, he would brush the fair hair from the forehead so that he could stare in those shining eyes and drown in their sight. Sometimes he would run his finger on that straight nose and lips curved in a gentle smile and then go down to the neck. Maybe it was some anxiety forcing him to make sure, every now and then, that there was a living body beside his own. And when he made sure - until the next time, though - he would be filled with the bliss of a complete intimacy. He didn't need anything more.
Everything annoyed him. Matako, who would only sit quiet and not react to his provocations. Takechi, who would come into this room and say, 'Good morning,' like nothing had happened, then take his place by the computer and spend most of the time there. Bansai, who would move stealthily and rarely touch his shamisen. The atmosphere of despondency and resignation, and that he gave in to it himself though he didn't want.
Of course, what annoyed him the most was Takasugi Shinsuke, and in every possible way. The light he radiated - the light that had been guiding Nizō for so long - had grown stronger, reaching the level of a supernova. Nizō couldn't run away from it; it would pursue him even in sleep.
Why? Why was he emitting so strong light? Why was it a stranger who did this, a man who had appeared out of nowhere? Why it could never be them? Why not him?
When one is in the dark, unable to see anyone, one thinks no-one can see them either - a paranoid delusion of the blind, who can never escape it. Nizō didn't want to disappear, to become invisible to others - and he would constantly fight against the fear gnawing at him from the inside for so long. The irony was that the only person he could ever see, kept ignoring his presence more than anyone; he'd always been under the impression that Takasugi Shinsuke never really saw him. Now it was more than obvious: how could he see anything when he emanated such dazzling light?
Nizō feared that the light would devour all of them, burn their souls and incinerate their hearts until nothing remained, only ash in the emptiness... in the most genuine darkness that would never be lit again, not even with one spark. He could get up and leave any moment, he could flee before that happened, save himself before it was too late. Yet, he was like a moth bound by its own weakness: he couldn't turn away from the light, even if it promised only his doom. From the very start, he'd been resolved to burn together with that star.
But waiting for it to happen annoyed him more than anything.
He would rest his head on Sensei's shoulder. He would hide his face in the curve of Sensei's neck. He would press his cheek to Sensei's back and put his arms around his waist. Soon, his own hands felt empty without touching, so he didn't let it happen. They were here, the two of them, but they became one with every passing moment. If he decided to spare a moment and think, he would realize it was what he'd lacked all those years: complementation. Until now, he'd been incomplete, always feeling there should be more - but it was nothing more than the past now, one that he found difficult to believe in, so he didn't want to think of it. He didn't want to think of the future either, for the future was simply continuation of the present, infinite fulfilment in that bond, that deep closeness, that symbiosis. At last, there was no pain of solitude, no shock of realization he was ending somewhere and beyond was only emptiness. Now, everywhere around him was life, was presence, and he merged into and become the other. Smoothly, fluently, steadily. His hands had found support and no longer roamed blindly unable to touch anything. His skin no longer shivered in the cold air, only relaxed softly in the other's warmth. When he called out, his voice no longer echoed dully, only he was answered. All emotions and feeling he sent in the surrounding darkness were finally being received, intercepted and returned to him instead of drifting chaotically. He felt perfectly secure.
She couldn't occupy herself with anything. No, there was nothing to occupy herself with. She kept spending the days in this room, always in the same place on the couch, and staring at the door that remained closed. How many times had she felt like getting up and open it - or, at least, knock and break the silence that dwelt in the ship and lay heavy on her chest...
It was as if no-one cared. For most of the time, Nizō polished his katana like he wanted to make it thin as paper. Takechi-senpai worked by the computer, murmuring to himself every now and then, and he didn't even look through porno sites. Only Bansai-senpai appeared to have withdrawn even more, so much she didn't dare to talk to him. Really, she was in a pathetic state if she felt the need to talk with Bansai, wasn't she? She would be happy if he took his shamisen, even though earlier his play had often annoyed her. Now, however, she could barely stand that silence, interrupted only by Takechi's muttering, Nizō's quiet cursing whenever he managed to cut his finger, and the rustle of Bansai's leather clothes.
Shinsuke hadn't appeared before them for weeks. Why no-one checked out whether he was still alive? But the food delivered to his room always vanished from the tray, and the clothes were put out for laundry and replaced with fresh ones. Actually, the servants were free to clean his quarters every day - while she... while they didn't dare to even knock at the door. Shinsuke didn't wish their presence, that was clear as sun; he wished only the presence of that young man that Bansai had called Yoshida Shōyō and who was, in fact, a copy of Shinsuke's late teacher that Shinsuke had commissioned years ago. She couldn't stop thinking of it.
She had gone through every possible emotion. Burning jealousy that urged her to enter that room, drag that... stray by his hair and pump the whole cylinder into his pretty head. Emptiness of being alone and abandoned, that was close to the utter hopelessness - towards the situation and towards herself. Bitter realization when the scales fell from her eyes and she could see clearly that whatever she felt to Shinsuke was as one-sided as it could ever be. Self-disgust for having fallen into such degrading depression that was unlike her yet she had no strength to fight against.
Was Shinsuke happy? Oh, he must have been since he spent his time in his... love nest and didn't leave even for a moment. If Yoshida Shōyō was everything to him, it made sense he didn't need anything else to be happy. Some part of her, one she hadn't been aware of until now, felt strangely relieved at the thought, the only positive impression in all that wretched situation. Never before, during all those years, had Shinsuke been happy, He would be pleased, he would smile, he even would laugh from time to time, but there were no feelings behind it. She couldn't really imagine it; for her part, she'd been always filled with feelings. Sometimes there were so many of them she couldn't control them so she would yield to them, never bothering with the possible effects. It was obviously different in Shinsuke's case. Well, it had been until now. Thus, if Yoshida Shōyō was everything to him, now and then - and he surely was, given the price paid - it wasn't so hard to understand him. Even though his obsession went beyond the limits of reason... even though it was close to the madness or was the madness itself - one could still understand why Shinsuke had plunged into it and wouldn't return. He had plunged into it so deep that he didn't notice it was only a vision. And the vision was to end one day.
What would happen when Shinsuke realized it? Whenever she mused about it, she couldn't stop wishing that the vision rather continued. Though it was unfavourable for everyone else and put her at a disadvantage - but, really, had she ever had any chances to begin with? - she would rather have Shinsuke remain in happiness because the alternative was suffering, and he'd probably suffered more than enough in his life. She didn't want him to suffer.
Never before had she felt so wretched.
The skin under his fingers was smooth wherever he touched. Soft hair tickled his forehead, and the lips under his lips parted willingly. He didn't want to lose even one breath. The body next to his own was both delicate and strong. He wished he had more arms to embrace it all, press against himself in every spot and leave no bare fragment - it was a waste. Yet, he had only two hands, so he made good use of them. The pulse racing under his fingertips and uneven breath brushing against his cheek were the best reward, so he didn't stop only reached for more, guided merely by his instinct. He was being eagerly responded and happily welcomed. Whatever he desired became reality. There was nothing he couldn't get - like now he had him, in the most real union.
Later, when his breathing became steady again and the dazzling colours ceased swirling under his eyelids, he looked at what he'd done.
"Shinsuke," Shōyō said in a soft voice and smiled gently.
Bansai wondered whether his nerves are in tatters already or not yet. This feeling wasn't familiar to him. Usually, his life was nicely arranged, every thing had a right priority, and all of them created a proper melody. Now, he couldn't resist the impression that the melody had become but a chaotic tangle of sounds and it was utterly impossible to listen to it. Unfortunately, it was impossible to drown it out either; even if he pierced his both eardrums, he wouldn't stop hearing it.
Of course, he didn't show it. He attended to daily business as well as handled the long-term projects of the Kiheitai. Someone had to do it, and that someone was naturally him, the second-in-command. Matako was useless, as was Nizō, but the two of them would enter the stage when there was need to cut or make holes in someone anyway. He could count on Henpeita, at least; Takechi adjourned his obscene activities until the crisis resolved, and focused on addressing the problems with coordination of work. But how long should they do it? And what for?
To tell the truth, there was one way to change the music of chaos to something more pleasant, but Bansai would rather listen to his own thoughts than give in to the illusive melody of paradise. Shinsuke had disappeared in his room long ago, but the tune coming from there clearly indicated he was feeling good. It was the very same melody that had once resounded only in his sleep: full of light, joy and happiness, sweet and lulling. Now it roared with the volume of thousand orchestras and overpowered, making any effort futile. Bansai shut himself off it, for he wanted to retain control of himself - and, besides, he didn't trust it for a second. He didn't trust it could last.
That was what filled him with the greatest terror. The storm was approaching; it could be still far away, yet it undoubtedly was on its way here. In that storm, both paradise and chaos would cease existing - but what then? He didn't know whether he was brave enough to believe that the sun would come again and its most natural, warm shine would restore hope.
From the very first, he'd been against it, from the moment Shinsuke had taken notice to that damn clinic and its offer. For all those years, he hadn't stopped regretting having mentioned it during one of their usual conversations. He might tell himself that he hadn't known... hadn't realised... hadn't suspected that Shinsuke's obsession were so extensive. But he had underestimated him. Well, it didn't matter now; what mattered was that Shinsuke was to suffer again, and the very thought was unbearable, yet he couldn't banish it.
In such moments, he would ironically ask himself whether he was really cut out for terrorism.
He'd been with him when Shinsuke had recruited the others to his command group. He had impressed each of them, and each of them admired him. Matako had been infatuated right away, Henpeita had appreciated the man's aspiration, and Nizō had finally met someone who saw him and whom he could see, too. All of them considered Shinsuke as a strong man who would pursue his goal regardless of anything and whom it was worth to follow. How different was his case... He didn't use to reflect his past, but recently he'd been nagged by the memory of their first meeting... and his own compassion that had filled him upon seeing that man in the dishevelled kimono, upon looking in his empty eyes and upon hearing his melody devoid of any life. Shinsuke might appear strong, ambitious and attractive, yet he was broken and hurt more than anyone - that much had been clear to him from the very start, even if he'd learn the reasons behind it later. He'd followed the man urged by the impression of having met a child, and that impression had never left; apparently, it was impossible to leave the part of the big brother behind. Of course, Shinsuke was much stronger he seemed; after all, he'd gone through the hell and was still standing on his feet. But was he strong enough to survive this as well?
Bansai would involuntarily clench his fists at the thought that the medicine that could seemingly heal Shinsuke's wounds, was a poison that would tear them up even more. A narcotic that could provide a temporary bliss but, in fact, brought even greater despair. An illusion that would vanish, leaving only void.
Every morning he would enter this room and ask himself whether it was today. Every night he would go to sleep, feeling both relieved and disappointed it had yet to happen.
Was it today? Was it yet?
Was it yet?
It was.
The waiting had made him so unstrung that, at first, he couldn't tell whether the cry wasn't a figment of his imagination. He'd been expecting it for so long, so maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him?
But no. During those few seconds of stupor he registered that Matako snapped her head up and her whole body jerked as if she wanted to jump to her feet, Henpeita froze and the clatter of the keyboard ceased, while Nizō muttered something unintelligible under his breath and squeezed his katana tighter. It sobered him. He dashed towards Shinsuke's cabin, urged by his instincts, reason and heart. And stopped dead as soon as he opened the door.
He'd been imagining this room for weeks, along with its content that, it appeared now, he'd memorised perfectly... apart from that one, which he'd preferred not to imagine yet it would kept returning onto his mind regardless. So, he was, more or less, ready for what he saw - but it didn't made the view any less shocking.
A normal cabin like all of this ship, maybe a bit larger. Bright tapestry, mat window, a table. Some books and papers, a shamisen in the corner. One wide bedding that had been containing the whole world just a moment ago. Shinsuke amongst all that, kimono hanging loose on him, unsheathed katana in his hand, and at his feet... a dream that'd turned into a nightmare.
Shinsuke let go of the sword that clanked dully, falling on the floor right by the corpse. His fingers started to tremble, then his arms too, and the rest of his body. Bansai imagined that his lips were trembling as well, and the only eye was wide open, taking in that scene of disaster that nothing could obscure. A pang of pain pierced his chest. He took two steps towards the figure that now appeared even slighter than normally, and without a second thought turned Shinsuke around, pressing his face against his shoulder. Looking was not good.
'You may cut me later,' he thought. Shinsuke seemed to take no notice of his surroundings. His body still shivered, and that was the only sign of life dwelling in him - always, despite anything, with some incomprehensible obstinacy; apart from that, he was still in his embrace. Thus, Bansai was surprised to hear quiet words, muffled by the fabric of his clothes but clear enough to understand them.
"He was like... him," Shinsuke said in a hoarse voice. "He was like him. He spoke like him. Everything what he said... it was so real. As if he thought so, as if he... remembered. He talked to me as if he remembered. He spoke... what I wanted to hear. He reacted... like I wanted him to. He did everything I wanted. He smiled... in that way. He would do anything... He would let me do anything to him... so I did... I defiled, violated him... and he never stopped smiling. I couldn't... I couldn't bear it. He was with me, everywhere... He would always be, despite anything. I wouldn't need more... I thought I just needed him to be there... But it wasn't him," he whispered and shuddered even more.
Bansai didn't let him from his arms. He felt no triumph, no satisfaction - maybe just a slight relief that everything had happened, been said and become reality. It was over. Even the most beautiful symphony - illusion, vision, delusion - had to end, and the end would always be abrupt and painful. There were hardly any words, repetition or prolongation in that end. It was the final accord, and nothing more. Dragging on would be a cruelty.
"It was just a dream, Shinsuke," he said in a soft voice, staring at the body lying on the floor like a discarded doll. White kimono in disarray, stained with blood that was already drying... Fair hair tousled around the beautiful face. Almost like a human. "It was just a dream," he repeated and thought he'd never felt so helpless before.
He put the other arm around Shinsuke and pressed his cheek to his hair, with a feeling he was holding a little child that had suddenly lost his guardian and was forced to face the hostile world. He could offer him only his presence - but it was meaningless, wasn't it? - and the realization filled him with shame. And regret. And helplessness.
It was just a dream - but the reality wasn't better at all.