Once, I used to think that 'perfect' people had no real fears. I thought that there were people like Osamu-niisan, cast through life in an eternal spotlight. That unshadowed by grief and misery, they were highlighted in the gaze of others -- and in the beginning, I thought that this attention was deserved. After all, they had been born with the kind of gift that merited this confidence, and even an occasional arrogance on their parts.
And it was all due to this 'genius' that opened up invisible doors and carved impossible pathways for them.
Or so it seemed.
I knew that Osamu-niisan's genius granted him a position that few could begin to comprehend -- and more than that, I admired him. Not for being admired by the public or for being so loved by our parents, but because he was my brother. There were other things, too, which other people could admire him for. Despite what the world demanded of him, he met all expectations. No matter what he did, he was flawless. And he was a good son; much better than I've ever been. A son who Mama and Papa really should have been proud of. But more importantly, more than that: every Sunday, he left all his studies and took me to the park. Even after we crossed the street, his hand was firmly in mine.
That was my favorite day of the week. Until two years later, when--
Well.
He was always surrounded by crowds. Outside our doorstep, there were days when all shutters would go off, a hundred flashing lightbulbs and the clicking teeth of cameras staring our family in the face. Those teeth only saw him, but this was expected.
This held true for the reporters.
Mouths hungry, they waited to swallow any stray word of his.
And he continued to be polite whenever he spoke to them. Deferential. I was stunned by how he managed to retain his calm in front of what seemed to be overwhelming odds. 'Managed' is incorrect, actually, as this calm did not appear to take any effort on his part. On the other hand, I saw too many people, too much fuss; too much of everything. I was afraid of those hordes flocking to him, who waited to trample over what lay within their path. I suppose he must have noticed this, because he would always cover me from them, as though to shield me from those masses.
Somewhere along the way, that changed.
He still covered me from the masses, but there was a strangeness in his expression, a minute-difference in the sweep of his arm. His eyes narrowed when he saw me clinging to him like driftwood, always there but never overt.
Now, I knew that his actions were a result of shame. Because he was ashamed of his younger brother; because he was ashamed that I was his younger brother. Not because he wanted to protect me, and not because he'd considered how I felt when these people showed up day after night. I knew that I was another burden placed on his shoulders, one heavier than those placed by our parents and the media.
I resented that each flashing lightbulb drew him away from us. That each click further separated him from me.
Click. Through gritted teeth, he would say, 'No, Ken, I don't have time to get ice-cream with you today. Can't you go by yourself? You're old enough to do that now.' And he would turn back to our parents, who beamed in the way human beings only can when they are completely oblivious.
Another click. 'Ken, leave me alone. I have work to do.' His face in shadow, oval-shaped glasses were all I saw of him.
And another. 'Ken! Get out!' With a smack to punctuate that, clarity came. I realized that we stood on the opposite ends of an infinite wall, a wall like the sky in that it could not be torn down.
And he was sick of the media. Not only sick of the media, he was sick of us; for being 'Ichijouji-san' before he was 'Osamu', for being trapped within a world that fixed his fame and role before his identity. And I saw that he loathed my attention. On top of his other responsibilities, he could not have enjoyed being tied to yet another individual without choice. Another creature who was hungry for affection and simpering -- pathetic -- in his loyalty.
I know this. Why? Because a year later, I knew how I resented that this world had trapped me as well.
Yet nothing changed when I tried to escape it. Not when I came to be touted as a prodigy myself, and not when all whispers of Ichijouji Osamu faded in favor of Ichijouji Ken. Not even when I sought out the Digital World, much as I wished that would. And no matter how much I modified this 'new' world for my benefit, no matter how I reshaped and redesigned it to reflect my will, its essential structure remained the same. My position in this adopted world, and my own, would not alter either.
This is how all organisms are; you can modify the surface, but the innate structure will always remain the same. Likewise, this applies to any mass. And Newton's Laws continue to apply.
I should have understood that.
That is why tucking my emotions under an implacable surface failed to work. In fairness, I hadn't been fully aware of what I was hiding to begin with, but fairness rarely does apply to any situation. 'Fairness' is a human construct, and no more applicable in the real world (or any) than mercy or justice or kindness.
Especially kindness.
You see, my Crest is based on a falsehood.
Kindness is iodine put on a cut so that the bandage will sting less. It is a white lie wrapped in a comforting bundle, a quick death granted without pain. It is two faces reflected in a single coin, each side only visible when it blots out the other.
Kindness applies to me no more than it does to truths or hard reality.
My Crest is worthless.