Keima didn't need to hear it to assume and come to the conclusion that Komachi wasn't going to come and help him. Either it be the length of the interrogation, or the Goddess's own willing, the circumstances of the discovery, and the surprising leniency Suwako showed him, made him realize the chance of him achieving aid from the Shinigami was effectively zero.

He hadn't expected the Goddess to be outside his room, eavesdropping all of his plans, but he had this sinking feeling that, in truth, it had been a fortunate attendance, and whatever could have happened, if she hadn't been there and had missed all he had said, was going to cripple him for the days to come. Whatever it was, the possibility of violent lashings made him rather relieved that it hadn't come to that.

Honestly, Suwako was a hard character for him to pin down, detail-wise. There was an elusiveness, in her, as if her behavior had been an act, a way to fool those who came to see her, and her words had been under some veil, or careful wording that spoke little about her in meaningful, important levels. These kinds of characters were in excess, but, when it came from someone who was… how should he say it… real? When it came from a 3D entity, whose stat window did not exist, and whose existing material spoke little of her, she was hard to grasp, or even construe.

The Jupiter Sisters weren't like this! Even Diana at least had traces of characterization that he could grasp go on from those strands, but Suwako? Yeah, she had a nice theme song, but personality-wise, he felt like he was staring at the wrong side of coin, and it was the coin's decision, not his, when it came to whether or not he saw the other. Good thing she wasn't the capture target! Gah, that would've been a terrible thing to go through.

Moving with anxious step around the Shrine, he retraced his steps to Kanako's chamber. It wasn't that hard a task, honestly, even if the Shrine's layout was, honestly, confusing for the first-timer. By just referring to his game-centric mapping, he quickly found the room he had been in just this morning.

Still, he hesitated, and he had good reasons to do so.

There, in front of the shoji into Kanako's court, shoes, left outside in respect. Sanae was in there, that was a certain, and, without the Shinigami to help, he had to take other measures in getting her out.

Can't force her out, and too difficult to just convince her to leave; I'm starting to hate Player 2 a lot more…

Sighing, his mind finalized its decision, and he walked into the room.

At first, one would suspect the place to be empty. Her court, large, much like Lord Tenma's room, had a wide space for the Shrine tenders to pray and listen. On the far right was where she would sit, above elevated ground and on top of a cushion, watching over the- and he didn't really have a better term than this- 'floor-kissers' offer their faith to her. It was unfortunate, then, that the room now lent its empty spaces over to the gathering tide of dust kedamas and musty ire, for surely the place would've made for a good spectacle had it filled, rather than continued its emptiness.

Still, he had to get used to it. This was where he was going to discuss their plans together, after all.

Behind Kanako's throne was a door, which, if speculations served him right, led to an actual bedroom. He didn't really have that well a grasp in medieval constructs, but, whether it be there during the Shrine's erection, or an addition ordered by the Goddess herself, his instincts, and the fact that there was nowhere else for the Shrine Maiden, who most certainly was in here, to go, assured him.

And so, he knocked on the door.

At first, there was silence, as if whoever was within hesitated to answer. But then, when his doubts began to emerge, the green-haired Shrine Maiden opened the door.

"Ah, Miss Kochiya-"

"Go away."

The door slammed on his face.

Keima felt a vessel pop on his scowl-pulled face.

"Open the door." His demand went unnoticed, as she cried back:

"What's going to happen to the Shrine?"

He paused, the question too abrupt for him to properly process. His hand rose up to the height of his chest, and they clenched, hard, shaking from the excess of energy he was putting on that tiny appendage of his. Frankly, his entire body was juddering.

I can tell you that INSIDE the room, too, you idiot…

Flicking his numb fist open, the irritated Keima answered, in a low voice so as to not let vulnerable ears hear: "Does it look like I know? I wasn't there, in the meeting."

"Don't lie," she riposted, adding fuel to his frustration, "I know it, I JUST know it! You were there! That's why you were carrying her back to the Shrine: you were at the meeting, and when she fainted, you were instructed to take her back! You're a Tengu, aren't you! You can't be a God, you can't be anything but someone who works for them!"

How many disillusioned accusations did he have to trudge through? First Hatate, now her? Touhou characters were troublesome, even for 3D.

But she wasn't going to budge, and there was a wall separating them. She had the advantage here; that was unless, of course, he sat outside till she starved, but that would have been an absolute waste of time, and it would do no good in his already-strained flexibility within the Moriya household. If there was just some way he could get her out…

Telling her the truth isn't an option here. Knowing her, she'd make a run for it and convince Kanako that I'm a Tengu associate.

Can't waste time, but can't do anything to not let that happen…

"Oi, why're you so quiet?"

"I was thinking…" he grunted back, before he put out his actual answer to her conniption, "Pretty insolent for a Shrine Maiden to dismiss a God as such, don't you think? I just want to see Kanako, and make sure that she's okay!"

"You left the damn room just now!" She punched the door, forcing him reflexively back, "I had to carry her!"

Keima snapped.

Okay, the point, she could take! Yes, he supposed he did misjudge how long he had to stay to grieve with the other two, but the second point!? REALLY!? Is that your complaint!? He palmed her back, screaming at the barrier that was now an inch from his face. "Oh, so you want me to touch her?! I don't mind!"

"Don't put words into my-!?" She abruptly gasped, some horrifying realization dawning into her. "'D-don't mind'!? You pervert! I'm telling you: I am the Moriya Shrine Maiden, and I'm not afraid to use Danmaku to chase you away!"

"As the God who's head over heels with Lady Yasaka's achievements and feats, I order you to open this door!"

"I'm not kidding! I will shoot Danmaku at you!"

"And I'll eat them up to show you my commitment to her!"

"You weirdo!"

"Stupid Shrine Maiden!"

"Lier, lier, lier!"

"I'll curse you!"

"And what's that going to do, huh?!"

"You'll lose every game that you play, forever!"

"You're so USELESS!"

She barraged the door with threatening fists, but it didn't faze the God of Conquest from his spot.

It did, though, make his head knock painfully on the surface like a jackhammer on stone. Heck, one would swear that steam was seeping out.

Stepping back, his forehead revealed to the world a throbbing bruise on his head and a little waterfall of blood streaking past the bridge of his nose- nothing permanent, for the God of Conquest had a knack in the physically dramatic. His lips, sealed tight with the coming of his clenched teeth, made good lipstick out of the fluid. One eye twitched.

Like any main protagonist, though, one quick wipe immediately cleaned his face, and he readied for another assault.

And then the Shrine bell rang.

Wait.

Keima stopped.

The Shrine Bell?

The one outside the entrance?

Someone rang it?

His breath hitched. Sanae hiccupped from the sudden peal.

A visitor. Sanae's heart leapt, because it meant one thing.

An opportunity to get her out of the room.

"Answer it," he said in the new silence forming between them. To have a visitor now should have been unheard of. It could be the Tengu…

"Kochiya, are you listening to me," he continued, this time with more heft in his voice, "Answer the visitors. I'll look after Kanako."

Now, he was even knocking on the door to get her to start doing something.

Sanae has to answer it.

No way is this some coincidence. I have to use this to my advantage.

If she's too slow, Suwako might answer it, and if she does, I wouldn't have the time needed inside to get any progress with Kanako…

Damn it, come out. I need to set up the next event!

Desperation, perhaps unfortunately, was not a foreign sensation to Keima. It heightens the senses, palpitates through the heart into the veins, and brings to recoil the stresses building within. Waning time brought about it, in today's case, but graspable, yet far off solutions exacerbated the pulsating insidiousness. She must leave. If she didn't, then what else could he do but waste his already ticking time like some useless commodity, when in all honesties and scrutiny they were beyond valuable. Did time demand from him to tear off the walls? Did it want him to force his way through the lock? Was this an order for him to ditch the frugal respect for some toxic ornery just to get his way in this silly game?

"Just open the door..." muttered Keima through the paper-thin walls, "And let me do my damn job!"

And then the breeze hit his face.

Keima opened his clenched eyes and stared, stunned.

Sanae harrumphed out of the door.

His look of sheer bewilderment must have been far too visible for his own good, because Sanae, begrudgingly, explained, with eyes veered, and a pout for lips. "I-"A short pause to collect her thoughts. "As the Shrine Maiden, you're right, I have to answer."

He couldn't even move. The shock of it all was too much for-

Suddenly, he jerked back. Her gohei had collided and pushed back on his chest. The brazenness hadn't come from nowhere, either, for her face embodied a determination he hadn't seen on her before, all aimed at him, the disdain uncovered and in plain sight.

With a sharp inhale that brought her head angled higher, she, through that pout of hers, muttered to him, with the authoritativeness of a commander: "Don't you dare do anything to Kanako… You got it? I'll exterminate you without a second thought if you do."

Keima stared at the gohei.

Then at her.

A silent nod answered in compliance.

With swift step, Sanae withdrew her weapon and jogged out the premise, picking her shoes up as she went, perhaps under the bothersome thought that if she were to put them on now, it would be too much a waste of time and a bother to the patience outside. Keima watched, wondering to himself of his fortunes, before his mind found himself alone, in front of an open door. In the wake of such an opportunity, he, with a gulp and gathering resolve, waddled in, and, with one last pensive peer outside, closed the door.

O - O - O - O

Watching your legacy rise and fall is the greatest source of regret. Watching it rise once again, joyous relief. Watching the mistakes of the past come and knock it down once more? Even Enmas should pity such existences.

Great beings worry most, for they infer such concerns from all that is past, present and future; hauntings, warring and destroying. It is in the blood of those who dare break the boundaries of the impossible millennium, it is what boils in the unconscious, whose steam rises to drive the hands to lead, the legs to stand, the words to command. It is the proverbial cog of the all-seeing, and yet, though there are many, most structure differently from their brethren, and the dissonance turns many to rust, and, finally, dust in the wind.

So many rise, and yet so many fall. We birth, and we lose. The cycle does not forget its list: it checks and it memorizes, and once the time comes, it sweeps through the fields of wheat; no matter the size, the age, the species, all are cut down. That is the fact of mortality, and all around us are the dusts of the long-cremated, some insidious ploy by the residents of the undying Providence to torment us into remembering so. You can come to hate it, to despise those above who carry no guarantees for your life beyond the dead of your nightly vows, for though there is a list that the Harvester carries, they are not inclined to publish it for the world to read, to reminisce, and to cower.

So then, who has heard of the God who feared Death?

No one, for Gods do not die. If you believed in a God who would even come to be moribund, you would not have a God in the first place. You would have Man. You would have Man, who bleeds, who hungers, who thirsts, who pleas, who grows weak, who breathes, who loses, who grieves, and dies in a grave one shovel-swing deep.

You would have the one who judges which God comes, and which God goes.

Was I one, before?

The shoreline laps at her feet.

It's been so long that… I can't really remember.

Splashing, from beside her. She turns her gaze.

She sees herself.

She inhales the sea air. No, not she, but her. The flowing robes glisten in the wake of the rising moon, whose glare is comparable to that of a sun.

She stares, longingly, at herself.

At a time where she cared only for what was beyond, where her footprints would be the only legacy she would care for, once she had the time to return to these beaches in the coming year. A time when nothing ruled her world.

The waves rush past. Her footsteps are washed away. Hers aren't.

Her heart stung. She hasn't felt envy this strongly in some time.

And then, she raises a hand to the sky, and a hand to her chest, and then, in front of the listening elements, she sings. Her voice is heavenly, almost bewitching, and she feels it through her veins.

How did I forget…?

I wrote that song.

She once envied the Godhood of those she looked up to. Always wanted to join them in their indulgence of longevity and bask in the holiness that comes bearing in their namesake. Yamato was a different place, then, simplicity in the form of a civilization, where peasants of the doctrine cared little for all but the fields, the nobility dabbled in the philosophies of the world or let themselves be grasped by the indulgences, and the Gods watched over them, eyes set in the sight of future's prospects, where the only legacy was their continued worship for years to come.

Now seemed so foreign to then.

And then, when her song had finally come to its conclusion, from the sea something emerged. A torii pushed past the surface, and rose above them, a gateway to the Divine. The water and salt lathered the lacquered wood, dripping down like a veil. The shadow casted right on top of her face.

She takes a step forward, and another torii rises from the depths. This one, though, is shorter, much further into the water. She watches, as she moves closer, closer, to the thousand years of war and love, prosperity and faith. The knees submerge. Then the waist is subsumed. And lastly…

When only her head is up on the water, she turns towards her other. Their eyes meet. One, clear as a cloudless day, the other storming and doubtful.

Her mouth moves.

The skies part.

The earth shakes.

The great civilization of nature collapses.

Wake up

Do not let my legacy end now

Wake up

YASAKA KANAKO

And she woke up.

Her lungs opened to the sounds of drastic gasps, and she took in breath. The blanket right below her sight rose in tandem to her rhythm. Blurry eyes cleared, and she realized where she was: it was her personal quarters, where her actual bed and all the meaningful furnishing that came with a bedroom were.

Once those senses cleared, she moved her fingers, and found them feeling bound and restricted. Ah, yes, the bandages. The… bleeding. It didn't sting, anymore, but that… that wasn't the point.

The memories came in an invading torrent back into her consciousness. She was losing not only the Shrine, her home and the abode of her family, but she was also losing her Godhood. By the end of the month, she might as well disappear with Suwako. Who would take them into their household, this proud God whose couldn't even stand her ground when it came to keeping her house. It was gone, all of it. It was just swept aside.

Her dream, what was that ethereal form of a metaphor asking her to do? It was like someone had placed the impossible on her, and that someone was her own self.

She scowled. The damn Tengu bastards, they've taken away her home like it was nothing. But they couldn't be convinced. No, they couldn't, and it only wrought her heart, wringing it dry of the warmth of yesteryears.

The Aki Sisters. If they said yes to their request of moving in, she'd…! She would…

Her tensing muscles dispelled. The terrible realization set in.

Her breathing labored at the terror she felt inside herself.

What am I doing?

I… I don't know what to do, don't know if I can do anything to save this Shrine, and, instead of thinking straight, I'm…

Why did they become her friends, to begin with?

Why was she so weak?

Why did she want to hate them?

Why, why, WHY?

Broken.

I'm broken.

I'm not fit to be God, anymore.

The bleeding wasn't a-a coincidence.

It's all-!

Her eyes began to blur. A coldness streaked down the sides of her face. She couldn't: she closed her eyes. Her teeth cut into her lower lips.

Yasaka Kanako couldn't stop her Shrine from getting taken away.

She couldn't fend herself from the biggest threat to her existence.

She let the people in her world down.

Where were they? Where were the spoils of the past now? The feasts with her people and Gods? The celebrations? The festivals she would attend, leaders she would inaugurate, priests she would pester?

Where were they now?

"Where are they now...?"

She cupped her face.

And then a hand touched her face. It wasn't hers. It was someone else's.

Her thoughts screeched, halted.

Who-?

She blinked, sending the pooled tears streaming.

"Don't cry, Lady Yasaka."

Kanako couldn't even breathe. Her whole body, especially her own heart, seized from the shocking realization reverberating through her that made her hairs stand.

That voice…!

"It's not the end of the world yet."

And both eyes met.

Katsuragi Keima was in her room.

She flinched in shock, springing her entire top-half up from the bed at such speeds that, in a silly turn, he had to reach out and catch her from falling over the other end. After a half-hearted apology, both went silent. Why he would lose his voice, she didn't know, but, for her, to let the God who idolized her see the lowest depths of her despair was enough for her to relapse into it almost immediately, had it not been for her own self-control. Still, the question persisted: why was he here with her?

Where was Sanae? Suwako? She didn't want him here. Anyone but the young, naïve God. Why did he come? Why did he remind her of one more tragedy she had created? All the senseless confidence, now broken, and in plain view of the one who thought her words to be true as the laws of the Universe? Oh, this would not, and never will, end well. She didn't want another individual grieving for her sake- she was already doing plenty.

But she couldn't say much. Her body felt weak from the advent of the Tengu's judgement, and there was little she could even utter to him that could be identified within the ranks of her renowned, haughty Confidence, which she thought he would have appreciated.

A cloth was offered, but she pushed it aside. She didn't have time for that.

"What happened?" he asked, eliciting a sharp hitch of breath from her. Shakily, she turned her gaze to him, a look of disbelief scrunched into her wetted expression.

He kept staring back.

Immediately, her neck snapped away. Gah, how obvious was she going to be? She just- It was the expression. That cold graveness behind those spectacles. Why was he…?

Oh no. Could he have already lost all respect for her? Was his presence in the room some token gesture, or him readying himself for the confession: 'I can't see you as the Yasaka Kanako I know. I'm sorry, but I must leave.' The thought tore at her, made gangrene the sores and cuts of her struggle.

But then a cold towel snapped her out of her trance, and, in reflex, she slapped his arm away.

"Stop it, Katsuragi…" she muttered, withdrawing her hands and shooting him a haggard glare.

Katsuragi only blinked in his initial response.

Oh, what was she doing, threatening him like that?

Before she could give him another apology, though, he said to her:

"I guess you've lost the Shrine, then?"

Her lips pursed. Of course he would've guessed correctly-

"Tengu must've thought all you've done for the mountain's too intrusive on their society," he continued, without much of a care for her slowly-perking form the more he spoke, "They must have talked to you about the Ropeway and the Kappa and what they were doing to the mountain thanks to your instigations. Clearly, you didn't bring any good points to the debate, at all, because they still followed with their promises, and now are kicking you out of the Shrine. Still, as a young God, I at least do know that pieces of land tend to adapt to Gods of the land; judging by the Tengu's sense of humor, they must have brought those Autumn Goddesses down at the foot of the Mountain to replace you, didn't they? As expected. And I'm guessing the outcome's the same as the last meeting, right?

"So why, Lady Yasaka: why didn't you take off that confidence?"

Kanako was as pallid as fresh snow.

"Y-you were there!?" she exclaimed, frantic and in utter disbelief. She nearly wanted to jump out of the bed and pin him to the wall out of sheer desperation.

He shook his head.

What? T-then how did he-?

"I told you," he patted the towel in between both hands, looking down at the little action as if whatever he was discussing hadn't been worth much of his attention, "Master debater and negotiator (in games). It's…" He paused, turning his back to her during the silence, and walked towards the drawer at the other side of the room. "Let's just say I've become pretty good at predicting dialogue structures when I'm familiar with the situation."

Placing the towel in a dish, the wet slapping a hint to its liquid content, he soaked and wrung the fabric dry, and then readied a turn when, all of a sudden, the soft sounds of a flopping blanket reached his ears. Curious, the God of Games stopped his fingers and turned around, one hand already reaching to dry itself on the hem of his yukata, if only to make it much easier not to soak Kanako's dress as she got up from the bed.

But then his entire body found itself forced to a halt. One hand, cuffed by the wrist, had been pulled into the air. The assailant forced her presence upon him, till his waist collided with the drawer. He leaned back, while she leaned forward.

Dark red clashed into brown depths.

Desperation was no God's natural motivation. In fact, throughout history, it had been the foil that led to her gaining more followers; a helper of sorts, rarely emerging from its Human and Youkai dens, but a frequent visitor. Where it came from made for good topics of motivation and blessing, and, this time, it was doing what it had been doing for Centuries. Now, though, it was inflicting its wounds upon her, and she wanted the cure for it, no matter who it came from.

Even if it came from a young God who'd only been staying under her roof for a single day.

If Katsuragi Keima was dangling some inane form of bait in front of her face like some passive-aggressive fisherman to his fish, then she was going to bite down hard on it.

"Help me, Katsuragi."

Her hand unconsciously tightened upon his own, having slipped upward till the wrinkles of his finger's joints could be felt. She couldn't hide the crimson blooming on her face, or the dignified tears trickling through her eyelids.

He only stared indifferently back.

"Help me get back the Shrine. As the older of the two Gods in this room, that's an order."

"Well," Kanako jolted as his hand wrapped around her's, "That's an answer I've been waiting for."

That was what she wanted to hear. The elation was spectacular, but it, and the tightening grip, had also come with the side-effect of wakening her from her distraction, and when she saw the proximity they were in, she couldn't help but push herself back, letting the boy feel the brunt of her push. The bowl tipped, and nearly fell. The drawer legs slammed back down as he collected his bearings.

And then her mind began to churn and swirl. Was this a good decision to make? What would he think, now that his idol, whom he once thought so highly of, was now relying on him like some weakling? Oh, the doubts did swirl aplenty within her.

"Why didn't you take off that confidence?"

Kanako stopped. The words sank in.

Of course, how didn't she realize this, sooner. The new God must still be too young to cultivate any of that haught she'd come to associate herself with. She… She should be fine showing a bit of humbleness with him, yes? Of course. Stop it with the doubt, you baba. If he was the real deal, then… then…!

"We'll start tomorrow," Keima's stony voice instructed her through her thoughts. She turned around, only to see him halfway from exiting out of the room.

"W-wait," she ordered, "Should we not start now? I-I'm-"

"'Not fine'," he finished for her. "Lady Yasaka, I deeply value your health; so please," he removed himself from the door, stood straight, and bowed deeply to her. She couldn't even respond to that with more than a sputter of broken syllables. "Rest till tomorrow."

A part of her wanted to resist. That part, though, was the stark minority.

Sucking up the disappointment in her face, she exhaled out a subdued wheeze, and nodded in agreement. In the next moment, he was gone, out from the door, leaving an emptiness in the room.

Kanako, thereafter, sighed, and resigned herself to his request. Shuffling to her bed, she took up its friend the blanket, and began to rest on the cushion, herself awake, but her mind meditating.

Gods don't need sleep, but she couldn't wait to fall into the dreamy etherealscape so the morning sun and his silly little class would greet her by the next blink.