Author's Notes: This is the final chapter of "A Mind of His Own." It's been fun, and thanks to everyone for all their support!
If you sense shonen-ai in the following, beware: you may be a fangirl! The emotions expressed are purely that of strong friendship and brotherly love. Enjoy!
The warm breeze tugged at the thin bud connecting the delicate petal to the branch of the tree. The small flower fluttered frantically, overcome by the faint gust. With a sudden release, the bud gave way, and the sakura blossom flew into the air, carried by the wind. It was framed by a beautiful, tranquil scene—the mountains and lakes of Innoshima gazed fondly at the small, fragile speck of color as it danced among them, slowly making its way back down to the ground. It finally came to halt, softly, on a pale face. The closed eyes did not flinch, showed no response to the petal.
Touya Akira gazed at the small sakura blossom, with a feeling bordering on anger and resentment. Nothing should be this light, this beautiful, this frivolous, when he was so distressed inside, and as Touya looked at the small petal on Shindou's white face, he was convinced that the blossom was intentionally spiting him.
Nothing should look that happy, when Shindou Hikaru was dead.
His body lay in the slate-black coffin, surrounded by ivory-white lining. He was sharply dressed in a deep blue suit, the same one he had worn during his fateful confession to Touya. The tie, crisply bound and folded, gave an overall formal, rigid look that did not suit him at all. His blonde bangs were neatly combed and positioned over his ears. His hands clutched five bright-red roses, arrayed in a pattern across his chest, arms folded neatly over his body. His eyes were closed, peacefully, and his mouth was faintly curled into one final, satisfied smile. As Touya looked at his friend's serene face, he realized he was envious of the peace Hikaru had found. Peace that Touya Akira no longer had any hope of ever finding.
There was a rustle next to him, and Touya turned to face the source of the sound. Waya was looking stonily at Hikaru's face, standing stoically and not moving save for the occasional shuffle of feet. Touya did not know him very well, but he could see the unshielded pain in those unabashed eyes. "Why?", Waya whispered, the first words Akira had heard in a long time.
"Why what?" Touya asked. His mind was on alert.
"How'd he die? Why'd he die?" His eyes turned up, asking the questions to nobody in particular. Beside him, Touya had become very uncomfortable. "I… don't know."
Waya turned one eye to look at his nervous face. Touya was looking at the ground determinedly. "Well, come on, Touya, don't tell me you haven't thought about this. You find Hikaru dead in the middle of the road. He's not injured… there isn't a scratch on him. What's your guess?"
He misinterpreted the discomfort and fear in Touya's posture. "I don't know…" he repeated stubbornly. He looked at the ground when he spoke, and mumbled in a monotone voice, as if reciting a rehearsed speech. "I already told you, I was looking for him in Innoshima, and after a whole day of searching, there he was, just lying there. I took him to a hospital and he was proclaimed dead. I don't know when he died, but it couldn't have been too long before I found him or someone else would have seen him before I did. I don't know how he died either… your guess is as good as mine."
Waya craned his neck to look Touya straight in the eye even though he was staring straight down. "Why Innoshima?" He asked simply.
A brief flicker of misgiving shot through Akira's eyes, and were quickly covered. He looked away from Waya's accusing glare. "Lucky guess."
"Yeah, right."
"It was as good a place to start as any."
"No, it wasn't. It's four hours away, on a ferry. It's the last place most people would look."
Touya inhaled and exhaled deeply. "I don't know." He said in a tone that clearly ended the conversation. With a scoff, Waya turned his head back towards the coffin.
The small green clearing near the sea separating Innoshima from the mainland, seemed to Touya as large as ten oceans. He knew he would always feel that way from then on. He could never return back to normal. Not anymore.
The landscape was dotted by the small, outdoor funeral. A pack of mourners dressed in dark hues—blacks and blues that only enhanced rather than destroyed the bright tranquility of nature—were the only people visible for miles, and they all faced the large, wooden coffin. Although Touya did not recognize them all, he could guess who they were. A woman closest to the coffin, her body racked uncontrollably by sobs, was undoubtedly Hikaru's mother, whom Touya had never met. Her face was flushed red, he could scarcely make out between her hands, which she held in front of it. Nobody made any move to comfort her, but stayed several paces away, observing her misery, and afraid to share in a grief so great.
Farther back stood a girl with a stony glare, her hand desperately clutching that of a taller, red-haired boy. Both of them looked at the casket determinedly, as if willing the body inside the coffin to spring back to life. Holding back a small sob, the girl wrapped her other arm around the boy's chest, and held him while he continued glaring at Hikaru with an amazing mix of emotions in his eyes.
And all around him, professional players and Insei had gathered to pay their respects. Although Touya dared not look around at the crowd during a funeral, he could see Ogata-sensei, Kuwabara-Honinbou, and Kurata 6-dan out of the corner of his eye, their heads bowed. And he knew that, somewhere behind him, his father had also come.
He stepped forward slowly, bowing respectfully, before walking up to the coffin and looking down, face to face with Hikaru. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a fan. With a snap of his wrist, he threw it open, displaying it's kanji proudly. It had since dried from it's long stay in the lake, and was in an impossibly good condition. Gently, he reached over the lid and laid the fan resting on Hikaru's chest, where his arms crossed, over the stems of the five roses.
He could hear Waya step forward beside him. "Hey," he whispered, "what're you doing?"
Touya looked at the ground intently, not willing to meet Hikaru's friend's eyes. "Nothing, just paying my respects."
"What did you put in there?"
Touya turned around and walked back to the crowd. "Just that fan in there on his chest. It… used to belong to him. He'll be glad to have it again."
There was a pause as Waya looked, confused, again into the coffin. "Where?" He whispered.
Touya pointed to his own chest impatiently, demonstrating the place where he had laid Sai's heirloom.
"There's nothing there!" Waya hissed.
Touya was about to ignore him, when suddenly his heart fell. He could feel his body freezing on the spot. Slowly, he walked back to the coffin, his body drenching in sweat.
Waya was pointing expectantly at Hikaru's chest. As Touya followed his finger, all he could see were five bright, vivacious roses, covered only by Shindou's cold, lifeless fingers.
Shindou Hikaru never left Touya's memories—never. Although the blade of pain was eventually dulled by time, it still cut deep.
He never told anyone the real occasion of Hikaru's death. After repeating the same story so many times, he often had to remind himself that he was lying—that his friend's death had not just been a freak coincidence. Just like Hikaru, the constant lies almost made him forget the truth. But he would not make the same mistake Hikaru had.
The first time Touya Akira defeated Ogata and earned the Kisei title, he remembered Shindou. The first jubango against his father that tipped in Akira's favour, he thought of him. And the memories came back hard. He would accept his awards proudly, but in his heart, he knew that they were Shindou's. He owed the boy for his success, his passion, and his achievements. And those nights, Touya would repay those debts in tears.
They belonged to Shindou. He belonged to Shindou, and Touya never forgave Sai for taking him away. He never forgave that illusion, that lie, that dream that Hikaru had fallen into. And as Touya Akira watched more loved ones die and die, while still feeling Shindou's wound the freshest, he realized that he had never forgiven himself. He had let Hikaru change him, shape him—make him vulnerable. As a go player, he knew best that if you leave weaknesses, they will be exploited. Life had taken advantage of his most vital weakness; his love. And now, as Touya Akira's game drew to it's end, he could easily count the final score.
He had lost. Without Shindou, he was lost.
Makemashita.