I finished the final fold and fussily rearranged the paper, evaluating the finished product with narrowed eyes. Satisfied that it was as good as I could make it, I set the paper crane down on the table with its brothers. There were five in all, one for each member of Team Urameshi.

It had been a passing idea at first, the cranes. Since Yusuke's team would be fighting the semifinals in a stadium full of demons, and since my energy had decided to indiscriminately attack demons, there was no way I could cheer them on in person. I wanted to wish Yusuke's team good luck in the semifinals somehow, though, and I'd absently wondered aloud at breakfast whether a hotel this swanky would have a gift shop that carried origami paper.

I'd cut off the thought with a shake of my head, though. After the incident last night, I'd been left feeling useless and embarrassed. Not only had I hurt Yukina, I'd completely flipped out, forcing Kuwabara and Kurama to come rescue me the night before their next match.

I'd be less of a burden on them if I just stayed away. And so, I gave up on the idea of the cranes.

Or at least, I had, until En and Ryo returned early in the afternoon, triumphant smiles on their faces and arms full of origami paper. They had not explained where they'd actually acquired it, when I asked, but the satisfied glint in Ryo's eyes made me think it might have involved threatening some of the tournament staff.

With the paper in front of me and En and Ryo watching, I didn't have the heart to voice my misgivings about the little project. Doing so would be a sure-fire way to spend the rest of the day in an impromptu therapy session, talking with four men about my feelings. So instead, I swallowed my doubts and got to folding.

"Are you done?" En sat beside me on the couch, looking at the five cranes.

Yusuke's was a bright blue, the color of his spirit energy. Kuwabara's, orange, with an angular geometric pattern that had reminded me of his sword. For the masked fighter, purple cranes on a pale pink background that had reminded me of her hair. Hiei's was black, with swirling patterns of purple and gray that reminded me of his seething energy, felt even behind that stupid sorceress's barrier. Kurama's was floral, covered in greenery that bore a passing similarity to his Death Plant.

"Almost. Let me write a note."

I selected a creamy piece of paper with a texture like parchment and folded it into the shape of a greeting card. On the outside I scrawled Team Urameshi, and then hesitated on what to write. Part of me wanted to explain why I was providing the cranes in the first place, to explain that I couldn't attend the match on account of the fact that I was currently an involuntary demon bug zapper. But I figured that they knew my condition well enough, and wouldn't need the reminder.

In the end I wrote carefully, I didn't have time to fold one thousand, but I hope these will bring you good luck anyway. - Ren

I placed the cranes in a small gift box and affixed the note to it with a small ribbon, then handed the box to En.

It might have been safe for me to deliver the box to Team Urameshi's suite, but I wasn't willing to risk it. Immune though Kurama might be, my aura would probably hurt Hiei, and I had no clue whether the masked fighter was human or demon. Even if I left it at the door, there was a chance they could be singed if they were standing close enough to the door.

And so, En was playing delivery boy. He left with the box, and I tidied the table, stacking up the unused paper and discarding the plain, slightly lopsided cranes I'd used to refresh my memory on the folding technique. On my way back to the couch, I paused as I kicked something on the ground, sending it rolling across the plush carpet. I squatted to examine it.

Pink nail polish.

I wondered how it had gotten all the way out here. I remembered falling asleep with it yesterday morning... It must have gotten tangled in the blanket, and then fallen out here when I'd dragged the bedding with me onto the couch last night. I picked up the bottle with trepidation, remembering the overwhelming flood of emotions that had burst out of me when I'd first come across the thing among Botan's clothes.

But there was no tidal wave of emotion this time. Just an ordinary bottle of nail polish, sitting in the the palm of a hand that had killed dozens of people.

Feeling defiant, I sat on the couch and opened the bottle. I would have blood on my hands for the rest of my life, and there was nothing anyone could do about that. But I could do something about the color of my nails.

Come evening, I was sprawled on the couch, fingers and toes a cheery bubblegum pink, watching the pre-match coverage for the semifinals. Metamura had excused himself to his bedroom, citing exhaustion. I suspected he simply didn't care to watch the bloodshed, but I didn't fault him for it. En, Ryo, and Kai had left some time ago, I assumed to go to the stadium—and so I was startled when the door to the suite opened and all three trooped in, arms full of popcorn and candy and drinks, like they'd just raided a movie theater concession stand.

"Quit hogging the couch," Ryo ordered as he spread some of the bounty on the low table before the television.

"What are you guys doing here?" I asked, checking the time on the television. "The first match is supposed to start in ten minutes."

Ryo sank onto the couch next to me and looked almost baffled, like I'd babbled nonsense at him. "What do you think? We're getting ready to watch the semifinals."

En sat down on Ryo's other side and passed him a bucket of popcorn. Kai handed me a soda before he took a seat in a nearby armchair, and I took it, nonplussed. "You guys aren't going to the stadium?"

"Without you?" En scoffed. "No way."

Confusion rapidly transformed into guilt. "You guys don't have to stay here on my account. If you hurry—"

"Ren," Kai admonished gently, and I shut up. "We're sticking together."

I didn't argue any further. I wouldn't have blamed them for attending the match, but I had to admit it felt good to know that I wouldn't be watching Yusuke and his team fight all on my own. Instead, I got to slurp lemon soda and munch popcorn with my friends, far away from the crowd of demons currently baying for Yusuke's blood in the stadium.

They'd bumped Koto from the ring, apparently, because a new girl began the introductions, announcing that the first match would be Team Urameshi versus Team Uriatogi. As she ran through the names of each team member I asked, "Do we know anything about their opponents?"

"No," Ryo said, looking a little irritated. I turned to look at him as he explained, "They were matched with a couple of weaker teams in the preliminary matches, like the demons we fought in the first round. Nothing that forced them to show what they're really capable of."

"Maybe we'll luck out, and they'll be weak, too," I said, though I didn't believe it was a possibility for even a second. Team Urameshi had luck all right, but so far it had usually turned out to be bad luck.

"Hang on." Kai was frowning at the television as Koto announced the team members of Team Urameshi. "Where are Yusuke and the masked fighter?"

I refocused on the television and saw that Kai was right. Both Yusuke and the masked fighter were missing. Only Kurama, Hiei, and Kuwabara stood at the edge of the ring.

"They're fighting with half a team," Ryo said, voice flat. "Again."

"They beat us with half a team," En reminded him.

"And Team Masho," Kai added.

Good points. I squinted at the screen, trying to gauge the mood of the team members who were actually present. "They don't seem worried…" Kuwabara was the only one who seemed at all nervous. Kurama looked serene, and Hiei almost bored.

Apparently in the semifinals, the team captains were limited in their ability to set the terms for battle. Tournament rules required that the winners needed to win five fights to advance to the finals. Onji, the old, frail-looking man on the opposing team suggested leaving the match-ups to chance, deciding who would fight based on the rolling of dice. Team Urameshi agreed. I relaxed a little bit more, figuring they must truly be confident in their ability to win if they were willing to let the match-ups be determined at random.

Onji rolled the dice. First fight: Hiei vs. Makintaro.

Hiei looked darkly pleased. Makintaro swaggered into the ring with a cocky sureness I recognized from the minotaur demon I'd slaughtered in the first round. It seemed like the bigger, less-human looking demons had a tendency to think that size meant strength. Makintaro clearly didn't think much of Hiei's diminutive height, and dismissed him as easy prey.

Juri began the match. Hiei's drew his sword slowly, almost lazily, and then his form flickered for a moment. I thought it was some sort of problem with the cameras in the arena before I noticed Hiei holding one arm behind his back, and a puddle of blood dripping behind him.

"Too fast for the cameras," I realized aloud. Too fast for Makintaro, too, apparently. He didn't seem to realize he was missing half an arm. He did seem to notice the puddle of blood forming behind Hiei, though, because he sneeringly asked whether he'd had an accident in his trousers. "I'm almost embarrassed for him."

Hiei held up Makintaro's left forearm, which was easily as big as Hiei's own torso. Makintaro panicked at the sight of it, only then realizing its loss. Purple blood sprayed from the wound, and Makintaro hopped around, howling in pain and clutching it. Hiei, apparently deeming the fight over, tossed the appendage into Juri's arms and began to stride out of the ring.

The fight was not over, though. Before our eyes, Makintaro re-grew miss missing arm—but now, instead of a hand, he had an axe blade at the end of his arm. He ran after Hiei and swung hard. For a fraction of a second, it seemed like his blow had landed. But it was once again a trick of the cameras, the frame rate too slow to capture Hiei's movements.

Hiei reappeared on Makintaro's shoulders and drove his sword into the demon's skull. Now, without question, the fight was over.

It couldn't have taken more than thirty seconds from start to finish. I wondered if that was a tournament record.

Another roll of the dice and Hiei was up again. This fight lasted much longer, on account of Kuromomotaro's stupid utility belt full of smoke canisters. Every time he exposed himself to one of Hiei's attacks, he became immune. The demon used one to become immune to Hiei's sword, then another soon after.

"Oh, come on!" I began to lose my patience once Kuromomotaro used his second canister to develop an immunity to Hiei's fist of the mortal flame. "The sword may not work on him, but you can at least cut off his stupid belt before he can use any more of those canisters!"

Ryo steadied the bucket of popcorn I'd almost upended in my excitement and shot me an amused glance. "You know he can't hear you, right?"

Kuromomotaro used yet another canister, and I groaned in frustration. But it all turned out alright in the end. Hiei managed to summon a sword of black and purple flames, killing his opponent at long last.

The next fight pit Kurama against Ura Ureshima, a shorter demon who carried a fishing pole and bore a passing resemblance to Yusuke. The match began, and Ura swung his fishing line like a whip. Kurama produced a rose from his hair, and with a flick of his wrist the flower became a whip of its own. Whip against whip, they began to lash at each other from a distance.

The fight dragged on. Both opponents had looks of deep concentration on their faces, but neither made a move for a decisive strike.

"Why isn't Kurama striking?" En asked eventually, puzzled. "They're both keeping their distance."

"They're not trying," Ryo said with certainty.

Ura stumbled. Slowly, Kurama made to strike at him—and while Kurama hesitated, Ura struck, tangling Kurama in his line and pulling tight. Blood bloomed on Kurama's arms and legs. Kurama cried out and fell. His whip tumbled from his hands, reverting to a normal rose.

Ura didn't give him time to recover. Kurama darted across the ring, dodging Ura's deadly fishing line. But after a while, it became clear that Ura wasn't trying to hit him, but trap him. The ring was surrounded by a forcefield. Ura opened a box and smoke poured out, filling the ring but not moving past the edge.

"A smoke screen?" Ryo said doubtfully. "What's the point?"

"Maybe he wants to sneak up on him," En proposed.

I shook my head. "It's a little over-elaborate for that, isn't it? There's got be be some trick to it… poison?" I shook my head again, immediately discarding my own suggestion. "But I doubt that would beat Kurama, considering how he diagnosed and cured Master Metamura so quickly."

For long minutes the smoke curled against the forcefield. From the soundbooth, Koto, too, wondered what was going on. Juri had gone silent.

"I don't like it," En said. "Either or both of them could be d—" He hesitated. "Defeated in there, and we wouldn't be able to see through the smoke."

A sword pierced the forcefield. The barrier broke and smoke billowed outwards, dissipating. Within the ring were two unfamiliar figures. The first was a small red demon wearing Ura's clothes, a sword in its skull. The other was...

Koto just about swooned into the microphone. "I've just seen my personal fantasy! Sexy ears, a dreamy tail—who is this love god?"

The demon in the ring had to be at least six feet tall. In addition to the ears and tail, he also sported long silver hair. But as the smoke dissipated, silver faded to red. Ears and tail disappeared, and the figure shrank to its original form. Kurama.

"I guess he really is a special case," I murmured, remembering his words from the night before. I wondered how that worked.

Kurama was declared the winner. The dice were rolled again, pitting Shishiwakamaru against any member of the Urameshi team. There was a bit of squabbling between Kurama, Kuwabara, and Hiei about who would get to fight. In the end they resorted to rock-paper-scissors to decide the matter, and Kuwabara won.

Well. Won at rock-paper-scissors, anyway. He lost to Shishiwakamaru, who enveloped him in some sort of transparent cloak that made him disappear.

"Do you think he's okay?" I asked uncertainly as Juri declared victory for Shishiwakamaru.

"I'm sure he's fine," Kai assured me. As much as I trusted Kai's judgment, I wasn't sure whether he was being honest, or just trying to comfort me.

Shishiwakamaru rolled the dice: free choice for his team, Masked Fighter for Team Urameshi. Shishiwakamaru elected to stay in the ring, while Kurama and Hiei debated who would take him on in the masked fighter's place. In the end, neither of them did.

The masked fighter finally showed up.

The match began. The masked fighter dodged and danced around Shishiwakamaru's sword, but she moved much slower than I remembered. Shishiwakamaru noticed it, too, and sliced off the fighter's mask, revealing…

An old woman. En, Ryo, and Kai all sucked in surprised breaths.

"What?" All three were transfixed, staring at the television. "What did I miss?"

"That is Master Genkai," Kai explained, barely glancing away from the screen. "A powerful human psychic. Her name is renowned, both among psychics and demons."

"We met her once before," En added. "Master Metamura introduced us all."

"But Shishiwakamaru's right, isn't he?" On the television, Shishiwakamaru was calling foul play. The match was paused as the tournament committee deliberated whether or not Team Urameshi had been cheating, using the disguise to use more than one fighter. "It was a young woman underneath that mask in the fight against us."

"I don't know," Kai confessed.

I hummed thoughtfully. On the screen, they began to replay footage from our match, when the masked fighter's mask had first slipped off. We all stiffened at the sight of our blank faces, relaxing only when the image paused on the young face of the woman who'd freed us all from the veruka. She couldn't be more than 25, while the old psychic in the ring with Shishiwakamaru had to be at least 70.

"That doesn't make sense, though." I twisted my hands in my lap.

"Why not?" Ryo shrugged. "It may not be honest, but what is, in this tournament?"

"No, I mean—if that was their strategy, it doesn't make sense." I jabbed a finger at the screen. "How many fighters do you know that are under 5 feet tall?"

"Uh…" Ryo thought about it. "Just Genkai, I guess."

"There can't possibly be that many fighters who are that small, let alone fighters willing and able to fight on a team that the tournament committee seems to have such a strong grudge against," I reasoned aloud.

"But they're clearly different people," En said. I dragged a hand through my hair in confused frustration. What was going on?

"Team Urameshi did not cheat." The camera switched to focus on a mountain of a man in dark sunglasses who'd apparently stolen Koto's microphone. Ryo and Kai both sucked in sharp breaths.

"Who is that?" I asked.

"Toguro." Kai looked pale. "His team are the returning champions."

Toguro went on to reveal Genkai's true identity to the entire stadium, explaining that her more youthful appearance was a side effect of her Spirit Wave technique.

The match was allowed to continue. Genkai managed to win by turning the energy from one of Shishiwakamaru's own attacks against him. It was the fourth win for Team Urameshi. All they had to do was win one more match. And with Shishiwakamaru defeated, the only eligible fighter on the opposing team was the old man, Onji.

Kuwabara returned just in time to fight him. While it was a huge relief to see that he was alive and unharmed, it was a huge disappointment to see him disappear, again, precisely the same way he had in his match against Shishiwakamaru.

The dice were rolled a final time. Genkai versus Onji.

Or, as we soon learned, Suzuka. 'Onji' discarded his old man disguise, revealing a ridiculous clown in a garish get-up. None of us laughed at the sight of him, too surprised by the bizarre turn of events to be amused. We did laugh, though, when Genkai beat him to a pulp with nothing but her bare fists, winning the semifinal round for Team Urameshi. The four of us cheered loudly, completely forgetting to keep quiet in consideration of Master Metamura, still resting in the other room.

Metamura emerged, leaning on the doorway to the main room and drinking us in with a tolerant smile. "I take it Yusuke's team won?"

"Master!" En went red, eyes wide. "I'm so sorry! Did we wake you?" Ryo, Kai, and I all added our own murmured apologies.

"Don't trouble yourself about it," Metamura dismissed, sinking into the free armchair with a sigh. "It was about time for me to get up, anyway. What did I miss?"

"Master," Kai said immediately, "did you know that the masked fighter on the Urameshi team was Master Genkai?"

Metamura's eyebrows rose, but only a little. Surprise at the question, but not what it implied. "Yes, I did," Metamura admitted. "I recognized the Spirit Wave technique she used to free you from those awful devices. But since she apparently wished to remain anonymous, I did not mention it."

Kai summarized for Master Metamura the revelation of Genkai's identity that had taken place shortly before. Metamura looked thoughtful, but if he drew any conclusions from the course of events, he didn't share them.

We cracked open more sodas and snacks, summing up the highlights for Metamura with smiles on all our faces. It was the easiest win so far for the Urameshi Team—that we'd seen, anyway. There'd been no emotional turmoil, and while they'd been missing a few members, it seemed that this time it had been by choice. It left us feeling optimistic that Yusuke and his friends could win, and pull one over on the crooked tournament committee that had invited them in the first place.

The optimism only lasted until the next match started.

The other semifinal round was Team Toguro versus Team Go-Renja, and it was gruesome. Karasu, with his explosive power, Bui, with his sheer size and speed, and, worst of all, the elder Toguro brother.

Toguro the elder was pale and narrow, and even through the television screen he seemed to radiate madness and malice. He viciously stabbed through multiple opponents at once, toying with them before they died.

It was sick. Fighting, I could understand. Humans had martial arts tournaments, after all. People even got hurt in them. And if demons' idea of fighting tournaments was a little more brutal, that, too, I could understand.

But killing? Not out of self defense, or vengeance, or anger, but for pleasure? I could not understand how someone could take so much pleasure in someone else's pain, toying with their victims for sheer amusement before finally ending their lives.

We watched the match in silence, drinks and snacks untouched. The party atmosphere, the bubbly optimism from Team Urameshi's win, had vanished.


Hanging Neck island was not large. It was only about three miles long, and even with the crags and juts of its coastline, it couldn't have been much more than ten miles in circumference. I had hoped to loop the island at least twice—not quite marathon distance. Before I'd been taken by Doctor Ichigaki, that would have been a long, hard run that required months of training and preparation beforehand. Now, running twenty plus miles was hardly more strenuous than a morning jog.

But it wasn't to be, unfortunately. Hanging Neck Island was rocky. It only had about four miles of real beach, and a chunk of that area was dedicated to docks. The rest of the shoreline was all steep cliffs and sharp rocks, straight into the ocean.

Instead of circling the island, I was forced to run back and forth on the beach. Once. Twice. Five times.

It was nice. I had needed this for a long time, needed the freedom, the wind in my face, the steady breathing and the blissful, thoughtless peace that extended running always brought me. It was serenity, as long as I was moving.

I had especially needed it this morning. I had woken up tense, tired, and irritable, having rested poorly after watching the Toguro team slaughter their opponents so easily. In the hopes of actually being able to attend the finals of the tournament, I had sat down with Master Metamura and asked him to coach me on controlling my wayward energy.

It didn't go well.

I got the principles, sort of. I knew I needed to sense my energy, contain it and stop it from pouring out and surrounding me. With effort, I could even manage to do it—for about ten seconds.

It was hard. It went against my every instinct, and the effort of it actually seemed to burn. It was like being asked to hold my breath. I could managed it for a very short time, as long as I gave it my full attention and a concerted effort. But the moment I stopped paying attention, my energy went back to its natural state: surrounding me in a protective, anti-demon haze.

After nearly two hours of fruitless practice, I had left the hotel in frustration, forgoing shoes to run barefoot on the beach. I didn't know how long I ran, only that the sun was almost directly overhead when another figure finally appeared on the beach.

Kai did not look at me, even as I slowed my run and came to a stop a few feet away from him. His eyes were on the ocean, and his arms and legs flowed to the rhythm of the waves. I waited, expecting him to speak, but he didn't. He merely flowed.

With a sigh, I fell into place next to him and matched his movements, the way I had back in the cells in Ichigaki's lab. It was pleasant enough. It didn't consume my whole attention the way running tended to do, but with the sound of the ocean and the sun dancing on the water, the peace it offered was close.

"You mustn't let yourself get discouraged." Kai didn't stop, didn't falter as he spoke. The words flowed as easily as his hands.

"I can't help it." I focused on my own hands, their movements significantly less elegant than Kai's. "Most things come easily to me. I'm not really used to struggling like this."

It was a weakness of mine. Most things did come easy. I'd never struggled with any subjects in school. I excelled in some more than others, of course, but I was above average in them all. I was decent at sports, and great at track. Whatever didn't come easy, I didn't spend any time on. It was why I didn't play many video games, or play an instrument. I wasn't much good at anything but puzzle games, and I never had the patience to struggle through the awkward early stages of picking up the violin.

"This will be good for you, then."

I felt a surge of annoyance at Kai. This shouldn't be like playing the stupid violin. It shouldn't be so hard. Irritated, I spat, "It's my body, my energy. I should be able to control it."

Kai's hands paused for the briefest of moments before resuming their flow. "That's what I used to think."

I remembered, then, that Kai had struggled for years to even sense his own energy, let alone control it. He had almost given up, before he'd encountered Master Metamura.

"I didn't mean…"

Kai finally gave up on the tai chi, standing straight and fixing me with a patient look. "This is not something that can be forced, Ren." He lifted a hand to my shoulder and gripped it gently. "You have to be patient. Learn to know yourself. Learn to know your energy. Only then can you begin to master it."

"And what if I can't?" I asked weakly. Because so far, I'd harnessed my spirit energy through sheer, blunt force of will and a stubborn drive to stay alive. If I had to change tactics, to learn to know myself, I was afraid I might never get a handle on it.

Kai's eyes softened. "I know it's frightening, to not be in control," he said, the hand on my shoulder squeezing gently. "But how you view this challenge, how you choose to react to it—that is in your control."

I took a second to drink that wisdom in, then huffed a breath, looking away from Kai and folding my arms across my chest. "Has anyone ever told you how annoying you are when you talk sense?"

Kai chuckled. "Maybe once or twice."

En and Ryo were debating something loudly when we returned to the suite, Metamura watching them with a patient smile.

"No, the end of a row is better," Ryo was insisting as I closed the door.

"What are you guys talking about?" I asked, nodding in silent greeting to Metamura. He nodded back, looking faintly amused.

"How we're going to watch the finals tomorrow," En said resolutely. "We're not missing it, and neither are you."

"We'll go early," Ryo said quickly, rushing to outline their plan like he thought I'd object. "Find seats at the end of a row, near a wall, and we'll sit around you."

"That should cover most of your aura's radius," En interjected.

"And as for the rest of it—" Ryo shrugged carelessly, then smiled a sharp smile. "Well. I don't think any of the demons in the stands are going to pick a fight with us."

I thought about it for a moment. "Okay."

"Okay?" Both En and Ryo looked surprised that I'd agreed so readily, but all things considered, it wasn't a bad plan. And besides, they were right. I wasn't about to miss the final match of this tournament, stadium full of demons or no.

"Okay," I repeated, smiling. "It's a good strategy. Thank you."

En and Ryo smiled wide. "Okay!"

That night, we celebrated. We toasted our freedom, and the end of the tournament, and Team Urameshi's inevitable victory. There was no talk of the possibility of their loss, even though none of us had forgotten the ferocity of the opponents they'd be up against. Any other outcome just wasn't worth contemplating.

It was dark out when the sky lit up. My first thought was a shooting star, but I dismissed it immediately, first because it was far too large and bright, and second because it was flying away from the ground, up into the heavens. For a moment its passage was so bright that night turned almost to day, bathing us all in pure blue light. All five of us rushed to the suite's balcony to track its trajectory, jaws dropped in amazement.

There was something about it that itched at me. Something familiar.

"Yusuke," I said without thinking, and as soon as it left my lips I knew it was right. It was Yusuke's energy lighting up the sky like a miniature sun. It was one of the most amazing things I'd ever seen, but despite its beauty my heart suddenly felt like it was caught in a vice.

"I don't know why," En said, eyes shining wetly, "...but it makes me sad."

Ryo and Kai nodded, clearly feeling it, too. Metamura seemed the most affected. I watched as a single tear curved down his aged cheek.

"Farewell, old friend."