For These Scars
~Epilogue~
Written by: RinoaDestiny
King of Fighters, Kyo Kusanagi, Iori Yagami, Saisyu Kusanagi, and Benimaru Nikaido belong to SNK
A few days short of June, on the last Saturday of May, Iori Yagami died at sunset. Only later did Kyo discover the exact time of death. They'd been at the park at noon; Yagami's death occurred around seven in the evening. Distraught with grief, wracked with emotional pain, he hadn't paid attention to the time. Held the other man close and wept; the body in his arms frail and lighter than it should've been. He remained outside the city that night, staying in the sparring grounds he and Iori most favored. His phone went off a few times, but Kyo ignored it.
In the morning – Iori's body stiff and cold – Kyo returned to the city with him. Despite the risk – not knowing his standing with the Kusanagi clan – he wanted to make sure Iori's family registry was updated. The other man deserved full funeral rites, which meant he had to follow procedure. A death certificate had to be issued. If he cremated Iori himself, the other would be denied all that.
He couldn't do that to Yagami.
The medical examiner had to take Iori away from him for the autopsy. Giving him up was difficult. Kyo had turned aside, placed one last kiss on his brow, and handed him over. Iori's keys, wallet, and phone were in his pockets – proof of identity and also…remembrances of a better time. Of the man Iori used to be. Iori would want to be remembered that way; Kyo knew that with surety. He also died having loved and being loved. If the not-quite-veiled expressions of the people around him were any indication, the fact that he and Yagami were close came as a surprise.
Let them talk. It didn't matter now.
Having nowhere to go, Kyo decided to stay at a nearby hotel. The autopsy results would take time in arriving and he was prepared for further complications. If the police needed to see him, for instance, they knew where to find him. After he checked in, he called the appropriate authorities and left them with his contact information and location.
His mother had called the night before. So had Aoi.
Surprisingly, Yuki also left a message.
He called his cousin first. Got an immediate opening of "Kyo, what's going on?" and when he asked what she meant, he found out the situation in the Kusanagi household. Apparently, his uncle and father had been apprehended by the authorities – Beni and Goro's doing? – and the clan was abuzz about his disappearance. News had spread as far as Tokyo, reaching Souji's ears and Aoi had heard about it from him. Concerned, she had called.
"Yagami's dead," he told her, unable to keep the anguish from his voice. "He died last night."
"Kyo, I'm so sorry." Silence on the other end. "Was it –"
"My father and Uncle Hajime were involved. They…" Grief tight around his throat. "They hurt him. He…he never woke up."
"Oh, Kyo…"
"I can't go back home." He had no home. Not after yesterday. Not after Yagami died.
"Where are you?"
"Still in Osaka." Pain. He'd considered taking Yagami with him to Tokyo, to spend the remainder of the other man's time there. But Iori's situation yesterday closed that possibility and…. "Aoi, if anyone calls –"
"I won't tell them. I promise."
"Souji?"
"Him as well. He's not a part of this. He doesn't need to know."
He released the breath he'd been holding. "Thank you."
"What will you do, Kyo?"
"I don't know." He didn't. Not now. It was still too new. Raw. "I need…I need time."
"If you ever need any help…anything, Kyo – let me know."
"Thank you."
"Hold in there, Kyo, okay? He'll –"
"Probably call me an idiot and tell me to move on." Just the memory of Yagami calling him that hurt. "I…I didn't…"
He never got a chance to speak to Iori at the end. Iori had said his name – he'd heard it – but him? By the time he reached Yagami, the other man was beyond his reach. Yagami had died in that state; whatever Kyo said, he wasn't even sure the other heard. Even if he did, Iori never spoke again. It shouldn't have ended like this. Not like that – not with unspoken words. Words forever left unsaid.
"Kyo…"
"I…I need to call Mom. Aoi, I…"
"No, it's okay. Just wanted to check on you, Kyo."
He didn't have words left. Just a dull empty ache filling him.
"Call me if you need me, okay? I'm always here."
Silence.
Aoi waited a few seconds, her own line quiet, before the call ended on her side. Kyo looked down at his phone – at her contact on the screen – and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from crying.
Iori would want him to remain strong. Because in the end, that was who he was.
That was all he had left to keep him going.
Shizuka Kusanagi, understandably, was worried and upset. "Kyo, where are you? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," he said, trying to allay her fears even though it wasn't the truth.
"Are you hurt? I'm not sure what happened yesterday, but –"
"Where's Dad? Uncle Hajime?"
A palpable pause. "They're in questioning now. By the police. Kyo, what happened?"
Was he always going to be asked this? The wound left by Iori's death hadn't stopped bleeding yet – would probably never close. "I…I went to meet Yagami. Dad and Uncle Hajime…I think they…" Took a deep breath. "I think they knew. Or suspected. They…they went looking for him."
"Is he all right?"
Pause. "He's dead. They…they killed him."
If Uncle Hajime hadn't broken Iori's ribs. Tried to strangle him. If his father hadn't stomped down on Iori like that…
"Kyo, if the police –"
"I'll tell them. If they…" If they come looking for him. He was at the park, after all. Had struck down that cousin of his – Rei, was it? "It mightn't help but…"
"Kyo…what were you planning on doing?"
"Yagami was…" Another breath, taken in slowly this time. He exhaled, blinking back tears. "Yagami was dying, so…I thought…" It shouldn't be this hard to get words out. "I wanted to take him away. It wouldn't be safe in Osaka, so…"
"Oh, Kyo." A sigh from his mother on the other end. "Were you thinking about that story?"
"Yeah."
"That only works in tales, son. It doesn't –"
"I know." He'd tried, but failed. Failed and Iori was dead. "I know that now."
Silence.
"Will you be coming home, Kyo?"
A question he dreaded, because he already knew his answer. "I can't, Mom."
"Kyo, I –"
"I can't. Have they…" He swallowed. "Has the clan done anything yet? Made any judgments?"
"Not yet. I'd know."
"They will." He knew this. After what transpired yesterday, he already knew the outcome. "I can't come home, Mom. I don't belong anymore."
"Kyo –"
"You said I needed to make a choice. I did. I chose Yagami. I chose this."
"You'll always be my son."
Tears in his eyes. "The clan won't think that."
Shizuka's voice over the line was fierce. "You're my son, Kyo. Clan rules or not."
"Mom?"
"Yes, Kyo?"
He felt like a child. Like a child lost, unsure where he was. "If Dad…if the clan…"
"Kyo?"
"If anything should happen, please don't…"
"Kyo? What are you saying?"
"I'm sorry, Mom. I'm so sorry."
"Kyo! Wait –"
He disconnected the call, reluctance and regret tugging hard. Tears began to fall. There was always a price to pay. Iori had paid his in full – unwarranted – and now it was his turn. But hadn't he always known that was possible from the start? That their relationship was always on the edge, always with the risk of discovery?
Why was this any surprise to him? At all?
The police eventually dropped by, but not before he sent a text to Yuki. She had wanted to know where he was, if he was okay, and that she'd heard about the incident at the park involving the Kusanagi clan. He hadn't given her much – he was fine (a white lie) and follow the news (more details would likely come later). He didn't mention Yagami. Considering he was the source of their contention – Yuki didn't need to know how badly his death pained him – it was better left unsaid. How he grieved for the other man's death was his own personal agony.
The authorities wanted to know the details. Took him down to the station. Questioned him. He gave them his account – refused to sign anything they put in front of him – and stuck to what he knew. Apparently, they'd questioned Benimaru and Goro as well, since they were the ones responsible for his father's and uncle's detention. He'd injured Rei, yes, but that was all he admitted to. To prevent a murder, he insisted. One his father and uncle had a part in.
Iori Yagami was dead. If they hadn't delivered those final blows, then he wouldn't have died so soon. He'd had time, Kyo believed. Days. Those injuries had dwindled days to hours.
Yagami never awoke. Never spoke again.
It was a pain, a bitterness he carried within him.
After several grueling hours, they released him. There was no charge. If his family name – the clan's clout – was the reason behind their decision, it burned within him, caustic and cruel. He'd set his face against the clan. He didn't expect any welcome from them. Braced himself for what might come.
From yesterday forth, he was their enemy.
You'll always be my son.
He wondered how long that would hold once the clan responded. Once they sought to wipe away this embarrassment. The errant former heir.
What Yagami thought about it, he knew.
Then, he was reminded of something else. Nearly broke down when he did.
Time passed and the autopsy results came back. Since Iori didn't have any next-of-kin and Kyo was the closest to him – side glances thrown in his direction – he requested the details and received them. They made Iori's death sound mundane, clinically correct and neat, even though it wasn't.
Medical reason for demise was Iori's heart giving out, the muscle too weak to pump blood. That was probably a factor, yes, but that couldn't have been the only cause. He also suffered from internal bleeding, fractured ribs, compression of the upper spine (his father's doing), contusions on his neck, broken blood vessels in the eyes (his uncle's doing), severe malnutrition, a high-running fever, and burns over ninety percent of his body (he hadn't known that gruesome detail, since Iori never mentioned it to him). Just his heart failing seemed…
It was too simple, explaining it that way.
Iori's weight at the time of death was fifty-six kilograms.
Time of death was estimated to be from seven o'clock to five after seven in the evening.
Along with the autopsy report, Kyo was given a small bag containing Iori's personal belongings. When he opened it, he discovered Iori's rings – chrome and gunmetal shining – and almost lost it right there. Fortunately, wresting control back, he managed to contain himself until he left and reached his hotel room.
Wept then, grief rushing upon him anew.
With death confirmed, Kyo stayed in Osaka to arrange the funeral proceedings. No one else would do it for Yagami, so Kyo took it upon himself. The death certificate had already been issued and Iori's family registry updated. All that was left was finding a temple available to perform the wake and service. He had money – that was no issue.
The problem was putting himself out in public, knowing the Kusanagi clan was watching.
But Iori Yagami hadn't fallen in love with a coward, and Kyo wasn't about to become one at this most important of functions. Steeling himself, he moved ahead with his plans. Kept his focus and also his sixth sense alert.
In the end, nothing happened.
The wake and service were scheduled. Fees were paid. He sent invitations to Benimaru, Goro, and Chizuru. Prepared himself, feeling unready for this…this final send-off. This confirmation of the end.
It all felt unreal. It shouldn't be happening.
Iori Yagami was twenty four when he died. Barely two months – not even – after his birthday. He should've lived longer. Lived until the blood curse took him away. At least that…that was natural – a given within the Yagami clan. It would've hurt – grief the same – but without anger, bitterness, pain, or heartbreak like this.
Instead, he forged ahead, alone. An injustice had taken Yagami away.
He was never coming back.
Surprisingly, on the day of the wake – a week gone past – Benimaru and Goro both showed up. Kagura-san, somber in a black formal kimono, had questions in her eyes. Kyo didn't say much. Just thanked her for coming. Beni, who'd been there for most of it, laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Goro, who was only involved at the end, nodded at him and remained solemn. Kyo couldn't have asked for more.
Everything went by in a blur.
He only remembered a few things: Yagami in his coffin, wreathed with flowers. His wasted face calm, as though asleep. The scent of incense. The chanting of the sutras. Beni, Goro, and Kagura-san there – people at Iori's wake. People who cared.
Whatever questions Chizuru wanted to ask had to wait.
He'd scheduled the service immediately afterward. Didn't think he'd be able to endure another day if it occurred later.
The coffin being closed. The official cremation. The standard funeral luncheon.
The hardest part was yet to come. Kyo had been preparing himself, but nothing softened the impact of retrieving Iori's bones from the ashes. The only glimmer – the one bright spot in all this – was that there were ashes. In this, they'd thwarted his father's threat. Iori died, but not in an inferno and there was a place, after all, to inter his bones.
He was weary. Heartsick. Wanted to return to his hotel room and…
Chizuru approached him afterward. Asked her questions.
He responded.
She patted him on the shoulder, spoke a few comforting words, and left.
Yet, what he remembered most was something Benimaru said. After the service, after everything, his friend – the one he relied on during the entire ordeal – took him aside, looked at him, and sighed. "Yagami was worried about you, you know? When he called you a 'goddamn idiot', he had a lot on his mind."
"Like what?"
"What are you gonna do about your dad? Uncle?"
"They killed him, Beni. Both of them."
"He was afraid for you."
"About what?"
"Where do you go from here, Kyo? Now that…"
"I don't know." It was the truth. "I haven't decided."
"Just don't do anything rash."
"Yagami said that?" Just saying Iori's surname hurt. There was a lump in his throat.
"He did. He was looking out for you, you know."
"He was like that." Was. It shouldn't be this way.
"Take care of yourself, Kyo. You need me – call, okay?"
Kyo nodded. It was the only thing he could do now. He was tired. Wanted to sleep. Cry.
Beni gave him one last hand on the shoulder before he left.
Kyo watched him leave. He'd never felt so empty before.
Two weeks later, the Kusanagi clan sent four people to retrieve him.
Kyo's response was fire. Not only was he not going with them – return to face death? – but he wanted to make his message clear. Iori had died because of certain members of his clan. In speaking out against the atrocity inflicted on him, he was marked a traitor. Did they believe he'd just come along, knowing what was in store for him? Did they really think he'd go with people he didn't know?
He switched hotels after the incident.
Those four were the lucky ones. He spared them, yet left them without doubt as to his rage. His grief – that was for himself.
Time passed.
He applied for a replacement passport, just in case. Went through the scant contents of Iori's wallet. There was an identification card inside, still glossy and slightly worn. Iori looked disinterested in the photo, as if he'd rather be somewhere else. Kyo smiled seeing that – it was quintessential Iori. He was also healthy in the picture, color good and features strong. It was the way Kyo preferred to remember him, despite his last memory of the man.
Holding him as his breathing slowed and then stilled.
The way how his hair fell across his face as he died.
The slackening of his limbs, of his body, as that long-fought battle finally came to an end.
The rings sliding along their steel chain, soft metallic sounds.
The rings were no longer with him. When he interred Iori's ashes and bones, he buried them with him. They were never his to begin with. Let him take the symbol of their love with him. Let him keep what was dear to him.
There was also a health insurance card in Iori's well-used leather wallet.
Iori had been hospitalized. Hadn't told him the length of his stay or provided any further details. It would've been bad if that was the case. What his father did was…
There were no words for it.
The keys he kept in his pocket. Kyo didn't think he could ever enter the apartment again. Too many memories overshadowed by sadness now. Regret that he couldn't have done more. They also weren't his. He needed to send them back to the building manager. He didn't know Iori's landlord.
As for the phone…
Kyo left it alone. When Iori was alive, Kyo didn't pry into personal effects like that. Sure, he knew Yagami's concert schedule, but anyone could find the information online. Books on the shelf were fine, too. But Yagami's cell phone? That was off-limits, unless the other man wanted to show him something. Those occasions were rare. So even now – particularly now with Iori gone – Kyo didn't want to intrude into the other's most private possession.
He did, however, buy a charger and keep it charged.
The days went by. Time lessened the stranglehold of grief, but it was still too fresh. Too early to begin the full adjustment of a life changed. Yuki was past. Iori was bones and ashes under a memorial plaque and gravestone, one of many in a quiet, pristine cemetery.
Kyo didn't know how to move forward.
His replacement passport arrived. He withdrew money from the bank.
Sat and waited.
Didn't wait for long, since the Kusanagi clan sent six against him this time.
"Takeo," he said, tone hard and cold. "Let the elders know. If they send any more men, I'm not going to spare them. Look around you. Consider yourself lucky."
Saying this while the bodies of five lay burnt and dead around them. Terror in Takeo's face as he stared up at him, clutching his broken arm. The other man was close to his age, give or take a year or two. Kyo hadn't felt like killing him – Takeo was just the messenger boy. Could be used to relay back a stronger message that injuring four hadn't.
Pity five had to die to make his point.
"A cast and a few weeks and you'll be fine." He paused, letting the silence sink in. "Iori Yagami had his ribs caved in. His spine stomped on. He died from those."
Blood on his uncle's sleeve. The shredded fabric, bearing blackened edges.
Iori had fought back, desperate. Had fought back, ill and dying.
His heart had stopped. It was because of the last few injuries. Kyo was sure of it.
"The clan has revoked your title. Your privilege." Takeo saying this, grimacing. "The elders decided it. After the four."
So. It had finally come to this.
"Was my mother there?"
"She was." Less terror now that the other man was recollecting his thoughts. "Nothing she could do, though. You did raise fists against them. Kyo-kun, why?"
Only to Takeo could he speak like this. "Yagami did nothing wrong. He died unjustly."
"But he was the –"
"He was raised to hate. To carry on the strife. Like we were, Takeo."
The other falling silent – listening – as though reaching beyond the depths of his words for something.
"It's easy to hate someone when you don't know them. Yagami was like that at first. But he became too familiar and…" He shrugged, shifting his position. Looked at the bodies around them. The clan would take care of it. If news broke, the Kusanagi clan would lose more face. "Once he understood me, knew me better, it was too late. He couldn't go back."
"And you?"
"Same, I guess. My father or uncle give you any details?"
"Only that you sold us out for the rival clan."
"The feud was over, Takeo. Would've been, if my father had left well alone. But he didn't."
His father had taken Iori's life – slow, an agonizing and humiliating crawl towards an unavoidable death – and all because he loved a man forbidden to him. Because of their blood feud. Because of that stupid, ancient hatred still alive today.
"Kyo-kun, you killed five today. You know what –"
"You hate me, Takeo? For today?"
Takeo didn't flinch. "I should, shouldn't I?"
"Tell my mother I'm well. Don't want her to worry."
"She will. After this."
It was time to leave. Kyo glanced around again, at this desolate spot away from the hotel at night. Five dead and the clan would be forced to readjust their view. Their priorities. Kyo expected retaliation, if Takeo's warning hinted as much.
"Get that checked out. Don't come looking for me again, Takeo."
"I won't. Others will, though."
Kyo left. Didn't think he'd see Takeo again after tonight.
With five dead and blood on his hands, Kyo made a decision. It required a trip down to the cemetery, though – a temporary farewell of sorts. With five members of his former clan slain, it was no longer wise or safe to stay in Osaka. That meant saying goodbye to Iori again – it might be a while before he could return.
He entered the graveyard like a shadow, clad in dark colors. Entered at night, and offered the small incense stick at Iori's gravestone. The carved characters of his name were on the stone – black, as if indelibly fixed with ink – and Kyo ran his hand down the stone, as though taking the name within himself. The incense burned, scent drifting into the air.
It was calm. Quiet. Silence before the storm.
"Yagami, it's me." Several weeks and his voice still came out hoarse. The pain still there, still raw. "I killed five of my own. The clan has disowned me. They will send assassins soon. I know you didn't want this – didn't want me to go against them, but…"
He paused.
Resumed. "I can't remain in Osaka. I have to leave. So I want to say goodbye."
Not the goodbye that signified no return. Not the goodbye that meant separation forever. Goodbye, as in he'd return. One day. To see this gravestone in this cemetery again, whenever that may be.
"I returned your keys to the building manager. Mailed them back. Hope they got it."
Speaking to the dead. Maybe, if there was an after, Yagami was listening.
"Yagami, I'll return. I don't know when. But…"
But of all the promises he couldn't keep – couldn't hold – this one, he could. He willed it so.
"I won't forget, Yagami."
He left it at that – a declaration to the deceased, to one beloved. Iori would understand. He would.
He departed Osaka that evening. Arrived in Tokyo early in the morning.
Tokyo was a large city, a hubbub of noise and life but Osaka was the city in Kansai and Kyo never thought otherwise. Once situated, he kept a low profile, unwilling to make himself the center of attention. Since the Kusanagi clan kept his cousins informed of current circumstances, he didn't contact Aoi. Lived in a lower-grade hotel – no lease to hold him down – and bought his meals at the local convenience stores. He always changed the location daily, trying to remain nondescript.
Grew his hair out. Trimmed it, so he didn't look homeless, which was the bitterest of ironies. He maintained some facial hair, masking his features; yet, when it grew too much, the reflection in his hotel bathroom's mirror resembled Saisyu Kusanagi. He took after his father – always had – and the sight was a wound in the heart inflicted upon one still open, still aching.
He shaved most of it off that night.
The one habit he maintained – the one he deemed necessary – was his daily workout, his practicing of forms, the continuous ingraining of movement and strength behind each potential blow. It'd been necessary when he fought against rivals and friends. It'd been necessary when he had been the Kusanagi clan heir. It was necessary now, for assassins would be searching. By the time they found him, Kyo wanted to be ready.
Four injured.
Five dead. Takeo with a broken arm.
Whoever they sent, Kyo was going to kill them. Fire, rage, and guilt.
Iori Yagami died. Kyo wasn't going to do the same – wasn't going to let them.
So, he practiced – forms at night, movement across the room.
Lived his life – actual living, not survival – and kept his senses alert.
He wasn't a dreamer. Not usually. But recently, at the dead of night or towards morning, he would awake, holding onto transitory images fleeing from his mind. More than the images were the feelings that accompanied them: amusement, contentment, and on a few occasions, the want to laugh. He never knew what was so funny – couldn't remember – but the residual aftereffects of those dreams were strong.
He began listening to music again – not his type, not rock. Jazz, the bluesy strains fitting his mood. In a way, it helped. It was a reminder of Iori – of a man who guided him into appreciating something else beyond his narrow range of interests – and it was soothing. It also brought back memories of the apartment, of their closeness together, of the times he watched Iori place the CD into the music player, fingers long and movements precise.
When Iori died, his hands were ravaged – flesh withered, bones protruding from beneath pale-gray skin. Like leaves crumbling into dust.
Iori was in Osaka with nothing more than a stone and memorial plaque bearing his name.
He was in Tokyo – the city in Kanto – and the miles never seemed longer.
Distance again. It appeared they were always fated to be apart.
Aoi called. Word had reached Souji of the change in clan hierarchy and his cousin was alarmed. Wanted to speak to him – what had he done for them to strip him of his title and rank? She wanted to know.
Kyo didn't respond. Not this time. Best keep her out of it.
He also didn't want Souji involved. His other cousin stepped out of the role that used to be his for personal reasons. No reason to drag him back into it.
He continued practicing. Living. Living a life alone, in a city that wasn't the one he knew.
Iori died at the end of May. Before Kyo realized it, July slipped by and it was August.
Two months elapsed. Two months gone.
He felt it like a keen blade edge to the throat. How had that happened unawares?
His cash ran out. He needed to withdraw money from the bank.
The last time that happened, the Kusanagi clan made a decisive strike.
He took the money out. Changed hotels and went somewhere remote.
Last time, six were dispatched against him. This time, four assassins were his quarry.
It was less of a fight and more of a slaughter. Kyo didn't waste words with them; neither did the assassins. They were here to complete one job. How unfortunate, then, that Kyo refused to die. His attacks were fierce – no flash, no play – and since failure meant death, losing wasn't an option. He got hurt – injuries were bound to happen – but the charred bodies lying on the ground were theirs. Three men, one woman – not that anyone could tell by their features now.
He was in Tokyo. The clan was in Osaka.
For the first time in his life, Kyo disposed of bodies. Cremated them to ashes. Buried the bones. It was better than they deserved, but he wasn't cold-blooded.
Just angry. Just living on for a man who couldn't.
He self-medicated and treated himself – Yagami would've been proud – and changed locations again. Blood on his hands – nine dead now – and if the authorities got wind of it, he'd never see the outside world again. Would hang for deliberate acts of murder.
He'd never thought his life would tilt like this.
Two weeks went by before the clan responded.
This time, he had warning.
Shizuka Kusanagi again. His mother sounded harried, worried, and urgent. "Kyo, where are you?"
"Can't say."
"Kyo, your father and uncle…"
"What about my father and uncle?"
His mother paused. It was several seconds before she spoke again. "Kyo…did you kill those people?"
He sighed inwardly, but never let it show in his voice. "Yes."
"Why?"
"Because four were assassins and the other five wanted to bring me back." He didn't say 'home'. He had no home to call his own anymore. "Did Takeo deliver my message?"
"He did. He's the new heir-in-training. You probably didn't know that."
He remembered the other man's thoughtful face. How he listened as Kyo explained why he did what he did. How they parted. "He's a good man, Mom."
"Kyo…your father and uncle are looking for you."
It was not unexpected, but still sudden on the heels of the assassins' appearance. "Are they?"
"Kyo…you're not going to –"
"If they move against me, I have to."
"I understand your anger, son. I do. What was done to Yagami was terrible. But he's still your –"
"My father? The man I thought I knew wouldn't have –"
"If you kill your father, Kyo, you're never coming back from that."
No. Of course not. It was unforgivable – the ultimate breach of filial piety. He had no right to criticize his elders, let alone his father. Yet, he'd done it over and over again, railing against an outdated system that wouldn't allow him to speak out against wrongs done. His lover had been killed and his father and uncle had slipped the judicial system. That didn't leave him much choice. If they were coming to kill him…
"Mom, I can't guarantee anything."
"Kyo, please think it over."
"Assassins, Mom. The clan wants me dead. What do you think my father and uncle want to do?"
He wasn't calling Saisyu 'Dad'. Never again after Iori's death.
His mother went quiet. She probably knew.
"Whatever you do, Kyo – please. Don't let him suffer."
Yagami had suffered. Immense pain, immense emotional turmoil, immense shattering of being. He didn't say it to Shizuka, though. His ire wasn't for her.
"Goodbye, Mom."
"You're still my son, Kyo. Even if."
That was generous of her. Her world was falling apart – the clan in shambles, her son an outcast, father against son – yet, in the end, he was her child and her love unwaning. Because she knew. She knew Saisyu had overstepped his bounds regarding Iori. It would be different if he hadn't.
"Love you, Mom."
He hanged up on her. Gently, softly. A part of his life was past.
It was time to move on.
His father and uncle found him eventually. More likely, because Kyo wanted them to.
He had a settling of grievances here. Despite Yagami's insistence – the other strident about his rash line of thought (opposition to his clan) – Iori was no longer here. Could no longer say anything to curb his rage, to break the waves beating upon the wounded shore of his heart. For Iori could no longer pursue justice or vengeance, so Kyo was going to do it for him.
Lovers. Souls forged in rivalry, tempered by their joint ordeals.
Yagami had been a strong man, singular in thought and action. Kyo never thought less of him after his crippling at Saisyu's hands. It was for him that this fight – this ending – had to come. A final resolution before he could move on. Never past the pain, no. But his life had skewed into that plausible third option and he was going to take it.
First…
His uncle was aquiline, still. Face shadowed, eyes hooded, muscles and bones fixed into an impenetrable mask. There were no words this time. No taunts, no derision, no mockery. Just cold focus – an action needed to remove the stain of disgrace from the Kusanagi clan.
Kyo met him in battle and it was brutal.
Whereas before, they'd sought to restrain – this time, it was to kill.
He'd practiced his forms, grounding it into his bones, into his every movement, into the way how he breathed. This time, when he clashed fists against his own blood relative, Kyo didn't have to think. He just moved.
Rage and grief and pain channeled.
Uncle Hajime was down, one more soul deceased. Another offering to the one wronged.
His father was next. Kyo had sought to divide them – to save Saisyu last.
What had it been like for Iori, facing a man with an expression like this? Terrifying, perhaps. The last time he'd seen this was when Rugal set his father against him – back when he believed Saisyu to be a good man. That had been a long time ago, when he was naïve and younger. He wasn't any of those anymore. He had his father, ironically, to thank for that.
Kyo never allowed his father to land more than a glancing blow.
The book of ancient killing techniques. His father knew them. Used one against Iori.
If he let him, he'd be on the receiving end of one himself.
That wouldn't do. He wasn't the one dying here. Not today.
So, with everything he had – dramatic improvement with the weight of his anguish – Kyo gave his all. Flame, fists, techniques, raw instinct (shades of Yagami) all honed towards a single death. When he landed his critical blow, Saisyu fell at his feet.
However, the older man wasn't dead.
It'd been in his mind to leave him there. To let him die slow and in misery like Yagami had. It would've been fitting – would've been a perfect tribute to the man he lost.
Shizuka's words in his mind, echoing.
Don't let him suffer.
In the end, Saisyu was still his father. His mother's husband. She'd requested it of him. Who was he to deny her? He wasn't his father, after all.
Picked his father up by the lapels of his kimono. Drew his fist back.
Delivered the quick killing blow.
Left his father and uncle there. Let them be found. His former clan needed closure.
It also meant he couldn't stay here. Not just in Tokyo. Japan was barred to him now. Deaths in Kansai and Kanto. He had to leave, to go abroad. That meant leaving Yagami behind. Miles upon miles with oceans between them.
I won't forget you. I'll be back.
Words in his mind, engraved in his soul, when he departed for Southtown that same day on the earliest flight he could catch.
He'd only been in America during the tournaments. He'd never intended on staying, for home was Japan and home never changed. Until now. Usually, he'd seek out the Southtown crew – the Bogard brothers, King, Mary Ryan, Mai Shiranui (unless she was in Japan), and Joe Higashi (unless he was in Japan or Thailand) – but as a fugitive, Kyo decided against that course of action. Like in Tokyo, he remained of low profile and never drew attention to himself.
It also helped that he looked different now. Long hair changed his face.
The first obstacle was the language barrier. While English was taught in Japanese classrooms, he'd been a disinterested student and slept through his classes. The only words he knew were "Yes", "No", "Excuse me" and his accent was terrible. Yagami probably would've laughed if he was here. Yagami, who favored foreign films (a stunner, when he found out) and whose comprehensive reading extended to bilingual texts.
His accent, though, was shoddy as well. Kyo recalled that much.
The second obstacle was his immigration status. Unless he shifted into something more permanent, he'd have to leave within a matter of weeks. He'd already uprooted himself from home. He didn't want to make another major change so soon.
There were more obstacles: lack of funds once his converted money was gone, no employment, and without any solid proof of education (no high school graduation diploma), he was shit out of luck on both. His actions in his younger years served up unforeseen consequences. He'd never had to consider them before.
Would he receive an invitation to the tournament this year? For that was his source of income. Yet…
With him on the lam, showing up on the world stage mightn't be the best move. Also, with Yagami gone – sharpness there, as if stabbed – he wasn't sure if he was ready to face his absence. What explanation would the tournament organizers provide? Yagami dead of the blood curse? Easy enough, since everyone knew the downside of the Yagami clan's bloodline. Not the truth, but Iori wouldn't want anyone else to know anyway.
But his absence? What possible excuse would they give for Kyo Kusanagi not being there?
He didn't die. He didn't get kidnapped. He was just…
For once in his life, he wasn't looking forward to the annual tradition of the mysterious invite. If they decided to pass him by, it'd be a blessing.
Home was America now. Southtown, in all its seedy wonder and criminal elements.
He'd killed his father. His uncle. Others, besides. What was he, but a criminal?
It was a cold honest truth, sinking deep into his guts.
Shizuka Kusanagi. Aoi Kusanagi. Yuki. Takeo, newly raised to the status he once was.
Iori. Always Iori, for whom he now bore a bloodstained soul.
A price to pay. Was it worth it?
The gentle smile on the other's face like sunlight behind rain clouds. Bemusement lighting his eyes, red-brown irises soft instead of hard. Hands intertwined, solace in unity. The redhead's hair covering his face as he wrote. His kindness whenever he saw cats. A steady stride, head held high, back straight and Kyo loved him for it.
Was it worth it? Yes, it was.
If Iori Yagami was to die again for similar reasons, Kyo would exact the same vengeance. The other man lived a cursed life, finding happiness only six months before his untimely end. They'd been together, however brief that time. They'd embarked on finding each other through that trial together. So if Kyo had to be cursed himself – a parricide for the rest of his days – then it was a cost he was willing to pay.
For Iori paid all.
So, too, let him be an equal in this.
Time continued. Months went by. Southtown went through its seasons and Kyo, who was notorious for lack of effort, applied himself to adjusting to his new home. Sometime later, he sought out Terry, for he ran into constant issues. Terry, who was laid-back as ever, asked how he was (after a double-take at his new appearance). Kyo gave him a barebones rundown of his situation, of why he was here. By the time he was done, the American was contemplative, mien serious.
"Have they sought extradition for you yet?"
"If they have, it would've been done by now." He wasn't sure how it worked between Japan and America, but the authorities would've moved fast to locate him if that was the case. "I'm not going back for now, Bogard."
"You will go back, though? One day?"
"Yagami's there. I told him I would."
Silence. The blond man glanced up at a sky laden with heavy steel-gray clouds. "You weren't at the tournament."
"What was the news there? Did they say anything?"
"Well…" Terry removed his cap, holding it in his hands. "Chizuru put about that Yagami died of the blood curse. She mentioned that you were taking some time off. A much-needed absence. Gave more spotlight to K' and some of the new blood, not having two iconic veterans around."
Leave it to Kagura-san to mention it in a politic and simple way. "I might not come back."
"Have you stopped fighting?"
"No." Kyo scuffed the edge of his shoe against the salt-stained pavement. "I still fight, but…"
"What you're dealing with now is much larger than any physical fight."
"I saw him die, Bogard. I couldn't do anything to stop it."
"Yeah, I know that feeling. Geese killed my father when I was a kid, Kyo. Andy saw it, too. There's nothing you can do. It leaves you feeling…hopeless."
"So how did you move on?"
"Like how you're doing. Either you lie down and quit or you try to make something positive with what you have left."
"Yagami wanted me to move on. Past him. He knew." Iori hadn't known about his break-up with Yuki. It was better that way, looking back. "But I couldn't. He needed me. Needed someone. I couldn't abandon him."
"Knowing Yagami, he wouldn't want to see you stop here."
"He wouldn't. Calling me an idiot now, I bet." The memory made him smile. "So what should I do, Bogard?"
"Well…" Terry looked at him and sighed. "With what you left behind in Japan, getting you citizenship won't be likely. Just want you to know that."
"Can you help?"
"You have a lawyer? I'm a fighter, Kyo. Mary knows more about the law than me, but you need to go through someone in the know."
"I do." He'd been extending his status, but he couldn't do that forever. "I'll leave when I'm ready."
"It's a good thing I know some Japanese. How's your English?"
Kyo scrunched his face. "Terrible. I don't understand it. How it works."
"Welcome to America."
Kyo laughed. "That's how you all greet newcomers?"
"Sometimes. Depends on who they are."
He extended his hand. Terry reached out and took it, a solid strong grip. "Thank you, Bogard. For listening."
"You have friends, Kyo. You made a decision few of us ever want to make. I don't envy you a bit of it. But if you have need, those of us in Southtown can help. Got that?"
"Got it."
America was his new home, however temporary. He wasn't alone, though.
Could make a new life here.
Months passed into a brand new year. More time elapsed and the first anniversary of Iori's death approached. It hit Kyo hard, worse than he could've imagined. Grief gripping like a merciless fist, memories good and bad striking with equal fervor. If he was still in Japan, the memorial service would be soon. He would attend, if he was there.
One day, Yagami. Please have patience with me.
His English improved. He tried bits and pieces of it on store clerks, on the occasional passerby. People smiled at his efforts and he wasn't sure if it was due to hilarity at his accent or how he tripped over unfamiliar words, possibly using them out of context. Terry helped him with the oddities he couldn't figure out and recommended he watch movies or programs on TV. Besides speaking, he had to listen. To hear it constantly.
He wrote poetry. Tried it in English. It didn't have quite the same flair, the same charm.
He wrote one for Yagami. Knew the other man would've found it abysmal.
Didn't care. It was a dedication. A tribute in words.
He was still mourning. But removed from the place where the death happened, surrounded by old friends, setting roots into his new home, Kyo found it was becoming easier. Stepping into the world without all of that weight, without all the pain suffocating him.
Day by day, he was able to move on.
He grew his hair longer – had it in a ponytail by now. Kept the faintest shadow of a mustache. He never grew a beard, because it reminded him of his late father.
That was a pain passing, too.
More time went by and seasons changed.
The authorities never came. There was no extradition, apparently.
He could only guess why. The clan back at home keeping face. To bring him back would reveal the whole story – the whole chain of events – and to acknowledge he had, in fact, been intimate with Yagami would've been shameful. However, Kyo wondered if part of that was also Takeo's doing. Takeo, who first warned him about possible assassins. Takeo, who couldn't bring himself to hate in return.
He hoped Takeo was doing well. Was steering the clan in a new direction.
Months went by. He was almost twenty five. If Yagami was still alive, he'd be twenty five approaching twenty six within the next four months.
Somehow, that thought didn't hurt as much. The wound closing, starting to heal.
It was a blessing – one he'd believed would never happen.
Within a blink of an eye, years passed. Kyo's English fluency gained speed – Terry continued to help and Mary, who also knew the story now, assisted. They also pointed him in the direction of better legal services outside Southtown, since Kyo's long-standing presence in the States meant he needed stronger permanence.
He never sought citizenship. Mary stressed that if he did, the government would want to know about any possible criminal activity, convicted felonies, and everything of that ilk. With all those deaths from years before, Kyo didn't want to risk it. Questions asked would lead to answers. Lying to the authorities only to be discovered later would be disastrous.
Playing it safe, he opted for a less intrusive option.
He was twenty nine now. It brought to mind Yagami's actual lifespan. Less than thirty years. If Yagami hadn't died all those years before – if Saisyu never found out – and Kyo had remained with him, the blood curse would've struck already. Yagami would be dead, but of something expected. He would've shown up at his funeral service, one rival to another and their relationship a hidden secret.
He still thought of Yuki from time to time. That, too, ceased to hurt as much.
Five years. It'd been five years since he left Yagami's grave that one evening in Osaka.
Characters carved into stone. Incense in the holder, fragrance in the air. The memorial plaque. The one photograph he'd provided, showing a young man handsome and nonchalant, red hair over his face. There'd been no sorrow or anguish – just a calm, casual coolness that was Iori Yagami. The Iori he knew. The Iori he remembered.
He wrote a poem every year. English, he realized, had its subtleties as well.
He used to hate school. Used to find it boring. But Mary encouraged him to study for a test, to gain the equivalence of a high school diploma. Otherwise, he'd be left doing manual labor, which was what he did now for employment.
He hadn't attended a tournament in years. Still self-trained, but those public appearances were left behind. He was okay with it. Let the younger upcoming fighters dominate. People like him, eventually, were to become legends – relics of their era, of a time gone past.
Chizuru had contacted him before. Had needed his help with an Orochi crisis.
What about Yagami? He'd wondered about that – one of the Sacred Treasures (one of the clans) was gone.
Don't worry, she'd said. The jewel would find its origin. Things would happen as fated.
She was a priestess. One of the Yata clan. Kyo believed and aided her that time. Nothing untoward had occurred. The jewel – the third treasure – had shown up, unbidden, as though summoned by a god. Orochi's revival was averted and the world lived to see another day.
Time continued slipping by.
Kyo studied and passed the test. Terry and Mary threw him a celebratory party. At least now the jokes about him being a high school dropout would stop. It only took several years, a tragic death, other deaths, and a drastic move.
He hoped for better now. Dreamed, still, of jazz and a deep voice and gentleness.
Of love. Of promises made. Of a promise unbroken.
For he would make it back one day.
At age thirty-two, Kyo fell in love again.
The woman was young, attractive, and lively with a magnetic personality. Her name was Mariko Nakamura and she was a Japanese-American born in the States originally from the West Coast. She came here seeking different opportunities, seeking adventure and while Southtown didn't offer much, it was unique. Kyo met her in the bar, of all places, and while chatting with her, felt his heart thump against his chest.
A third chance at love. Yagami wouldn't begrudge him. Wouldn't have wanted him to move on, if he had.
He'd let Yuki down. His mistake and no one else's.
He'd failed to protect Iori. Had cheated on Yuki.
With Mariko, if he really was given this third bright chance, Kyo didn't intend on squandering it. He'd protect her and be faithful to her. There were some things in life given in grace. This was one of them.
Weeks to months to two years.
He got to know Mariko. Met her parents. Fielded some tough questions about his background, his family, and his prospects. Mariko's folks sizing him up, judging if their daughter chose a suitable man. Kyo held under their scrutiny, having been through worse. He must've made a good impression, because Mariko's father warmed up to him afterwards. Three weeks later and he popped the question to Mariko, who said "Yes" and flung herself into his arms.
At age thirty-four, Kyo became a married man.
He had a son at thirty five. Named him Yasuhiro.
Two years later, Mariko gave birth to a daughter. Kyo named her Keiko. Even though his clan disowned him, his surname never changed. He was the proud father of Yasuhiro and Keiko Kusanagi and the loving husband of Mariko Kusanagi.
Soon after, time flew.
One day, when he was thirty nine – sixteen years since he'd left Iori's grave – he received a random phone call. Felt his heart stop, if only for a millisecond. The voice over the phone was one he hadn't heard in over a decade.
"Kyo, is that you?"
Shizuka Kusanagi. His mother.
"Mom?" How did she find him? "How –"
"Your cousin Aoi's very good at finding information online." A quiet pause. "Are you all right, Kyo? It's been a while since we last spoke."
A lump in his throat. He swallowed. "You have grandkids now, Mom."
"I do?"
"Yasuhiro and Keiko. They're a handful but you'll love them."
"Sounds like they take after you."
"Really?"
"Don't you remember? All your skinned knees, climbing trees, running around?"
He laughed and then stopped, close to tears. "Are you okay, Mom?"
"It's been difficult since…your father died, but…"
"I had to, Mom. I couldn't –"
"I tried to prevent him from going. I did. I just knew…I feared…"
"Is the clan okay? How's Takeo doing?"
"Fairly well. He's a different kind of clan head. Thoughtful. More open to change."
"That's good. Yuki?"
"Married. Has three children already. All girls."
He smiled. "Does her husband treat her well?"
"He does. She's happy now, Kyo."
The last question and the one dearest to his heart. "Yagami. Does anyone visit his grave?"
"Kagura-san does. Leaves incense and a flower every time. Nikaido-san leaves incense as well. For you, I think, since you haven't been back."
A thorn, tip sharp against the healing wound. "I will, Mom. One day."
"When?"
"When it's just me." There was an emphasis there, despite how subtle his tone was. "When I won't hurt anyone else."
"You've grown up, Kyo."
"I know."
Another pale silence. "Takeo didn't pursue any charges. Didn't report anything to the police. You can come home whenever you like."
"My home's here now, Mom."
"I meant Osaka. A part of you is with Yagami, isn't it?"
She knew him all too well. "It is. But I can't. Not now."
"Kyo?"
"Yes?"
"Can I see my grandchildren?"
Relief, then – the sun wheeling out from behind silver clouds, throwing light into fog and darkness. "I'll check with Mariko. If she agrees, then I'll send you a plane ticket."
"Why do that? Let me know and I'll order my own."
"You haven't changed, Mom."
"That's a good thing, right?"
"Yes, Mom."
Shizuka Kusanagi flew in from Osaka, Japan to Southtown, United States within two weeks. Kyo hadn't seen his mother in sixteen years – the timing coincided with his departure from Osaka – so it was a shock to see her with white hair and wrinkles around her eyes. Still, his mother dressed with impeccable taste – he wasn't sure what the current kimono fashions were like in Osaka – astonishing his wife and impressing his in-laws.
The children were asleep, so Kyo didn't disturb them. Time enough for his mother to become familiar with his son and daughter. Strapping them into their car seats, Kyo went to the driver's side, buckled himself in, and drove the entire family home. Like his mother, his in-laws were visiting them on account of the grandkids.
For the first week and a half, his mother suffered from jet lag. After, though?
It was interesting in the Kusanagi household and never stopped being so.
His mother loved Yasuhiro and Keiko. Doted on them, in fact. Mariko was worried she was going to spoil them, but Kyo smiled at his wife and said the kids were still young. It was okay for now – maybe later, once they grew older, he'll see. He'd already begun calling his son "Yasu" as his nickname. Keiko was always going to be the jewel in his eye, like her namesake.
That was only the first of many visits his mother made to the States to see her grandkids.
Time passed, changing with the seasons.
Leaves changed color and fell. Snow blanketed the ground, turning the world white. Green shimmered in the trees, dappled sunlight on grass. Sweltering heat with haze hanging in the air, mysterious puddles in the distance on sun-baked concrete.
He saw his children off to school.
He saw his children heading off to the bus stop.
Yasuhiro was five. Ten.
Keiko was three. Eight.
Mariko asked him about the poems he wrote every year. Said there was a lot of feeling in them. He explained that it was for someone he knew long ago, which was the truth.
Yasuhiro was fifteen. Kyo collaborated with his wife to throw him a terrific birthday party. By then, his son expressed interest in the military. Wanted to go to West Point. Kyo didn't dissuade him. Let him follow his dreams – let him make his own future.
Keiko turned sixteen. The family celebrated, making her birthday just as memorable as her brother's. His daughter had inherited the Kusanagi flame, not his son. Kyo discovered this a while ago. Taught her some basic self-defense techniques and non-lethal martial arts. He also showed her how to control and utilize her flame. At least, being a father, he didn't have to worry so much about her safety. If anyone hurt his daughter, there'll be hell to pay.
His son graduated. "I'm proud of you, Yasu," he said, wishing him well. "We'll always be here if you need us, okay?"
Yasuhiro had grinned – he had his mother's twinkle in his eyes – and saluted.
His son went to West Point.
Keiko's interest in science peaked during her high school years. Mariko asked what field she was interested in while they sat with her going over possible college options. Biochemistry, she said. Already had a few universities in mind. Kyo visited some of the college campuses with her. She was studious – definitely took after her mother – but when she smiled, he glimpsed himself in her face. He couldn't be prouder of his daughter. Told her so.
His daughter graduated. "Are you going to make a breakthrough, Keiko?" For his daughter always wanted to be innovative – to make new discoveries in her field of science.
"Just watch me, Dad."
He did. Asked her to keep him informed of any news in the media.
By this time, he was fifty-five years old.
Mariko was fifty-two and his comfort at his side.
More years passed, faster than expected.
Yasuhiro went to the Marine Corps after graduation from West Point. However, war took him to the front lines, where he was part of the spearhead in the preliminary operations. Kyo received the heartbreaking news delivered in-person by a military officer that his son made the ultimate sacrifice for the country. He'd wept, alongside Mariko, who was equally shaken by the tragic tidings.
His son was buried with full military honors in the national cemetery.
His wife never recovered from their son's death. It was soon followed by her parents' demise from old age and illness.
In his sixties, Kyo witnessed several funerals. It was very different from the traditional Japanese funerals – Mariko's family was Westernized – but the feelings and vibe were the same. His wife broke down; he was there to hold her, to whisper words of comfort into her ear.
Keiko had returned to visit them. Had been there during Yasuhiro's interment and her grandparents' burials. She'd made discoveries – had papers published in official scientific journals – but she only told him afterward. The family had come together during their time of immense grief and Kyo was grateful for the steady look in his daughter's eyes.
"Does Obaasan know?" For that was how his daughter differed between Mariko's side of the family for her grandma and for Kyo's side of the family for Shizuka. Shizuka was always Obaasan for Keiko.
His eyes were dry. "She knows. She's ill, though."
His daughter sat down, as though handed a sudden burden. "Oh, Dad. No…"
"She's lived a long life. Got to see you and Yasu. It's…"
"Will you go back?"
He wanted to, but his history with his former clan would make his presence troublesome. Takeo mightn't care; however, he'd left bad blood with the others. He didn't even know if there was a new heir by now. "It's complicated, Keiko."
"Dad…"
"See how your mother's doing. I'll be fine."
When Kyo turned sixty-five, his mother passed away. Shizuka had called, though, one last time to say goodbye to him. To her son, for that sentiment of hers never changed.
He grieved. It was around this time his hair went from gray to white.
Keiko was there – a glimmer of brightness in the gloom – yet, she couldn't stay. Her own life split from theirs and Kyo let her go with his blessing.
A year later, Mariko died in her sleep.
That reunited him with his daughter as they planned the funeral service for a beloved wife and mother taken away too soon. Keiko held his hand during the wake and service, a pillar of strength even in her own sorrow. Kyo loved his daughter and missed his late son. His children were gifts granted – hadn't deserved – and it was more blessing than he could've asked for. After, in the sanctuary of their home, his daughter hugged him as if she wouldn't let go.
When she did, she asked him a question. "What will you do now, Dad?"
He was sixty-six, getting along in years and his daughter didn't need to be burdened with taking care of him. "Keiko, you know the will your mom and I wrote up?"
Keiko's eyes brimmed with tears. "Dad?"
"If you need it, it's in the safe in our closet. You know the combination."
"Why are you telling me this, Dad? Are you going to…" His daughter couldn't finish her sentence.
Kyo embraced her. "It's going to be lonely, Keiko. Your brother's gone, we just laid your mother to rest, and me…maybe…"
"But you're still okay, right? You're only sixty-six, Dad. You're not that old."
"I've been through a lot. Tired lately."
"But…"
"Keiko, remember when you asked back before Obaasan died if I'd go back? To Japan?"
"Yes."
"I need to go back now. I have a promise to fulfill. To someone I once knew."
That got his daughter's interest perked. "Who?"
"You won't know this, but your father used to be a world-class fighter. No, not a boxer or MMA fighter." He smiled gently at his daughter's baffled expression. "It's called King of Fighters. Should still be running. I used to be one of the champs. Represented Japan along with some friends."
"So what happened?"
"I had a rival. Yeah, like in the movies. He was from an opposing clan. We used to hate each other. Fought each other all the time."
"Did something…occur between you two?"
He laughed but it was sad. "Yeah, something did. Keiko, what I'm going to tell you next…please don't kill me for it."
"What is it, Dad?"
"We kept fighting and fighting and…well…" He scratched the back of his neck, uncertain how his daughter would receive the news. "I guess we fought too much. Got too familiar. Keiko…we fell in love with each other. It was…unexpected."
Keiko's eyes were large with astonishment. "What? You were…"
"Only with him. There were no other men besides him."
He saw his daughter absorbing the information, trying to understand. "This was before you met Mom?"
"It was. Years before I met your mother."
"So what happened?"
"We had to keep it hidden, since we were enemies. Or used to be. My father found out. It…" He closed his eyes, remembering. "It didn't end well." Echoes of Yagami there.
"Dad?"
"My father killed him. But he suffered first. For loving me. Because it was forbidden."
"Is that why…?"
"It's why you only know Obaasan. Your grandfather was no longer around."
"You killed him."
"He killed the man I loved, Keiko. Someone who did no wrong."
"That's why you didn't go back. That time."
"Yes. But I promised him before I left…before I came here that I'd return. He has a grave in Osaka. Unless the cemetery is no longer there, I must go back. You understand, right, Keiko?" He looked at his daughter, hoping she'd understand. Not judge him harshly. It would be hard, hearing how the father she knew – the man who loved her mother – also loved a man back in his youth. If she paid close attention, she might've also picked up on the fact that he still carried feelings for this man unknown to her.
He'd never forgotten Yagami. Never.
"What's his name?"
"Iori Yagami. The characters are 'eight' and 'god' for his last name. 'Hermitage' for his first name. Won't be hard to find information on him."
"So you'll be returning? Now that Mom's gone?"
"I love your mother, Keiko. Loving him doesn't preclude that."
"You love him still. You speak so…something changes in your face, Dad. When you speak about him."
"Keiko?"
She reached across and hugged him. "I won't see you again, will I, Dad?"
He closed his arms around her. "It's been a long time. I…"
"When did he die, Dad? How old was he?"
The memory still carried pain but time had softened its harshness. "He was twenty four when he died."
"That's so…young."
"I know. I was only twenty three when he…"
"Go, Dad. I'll be okay by myself."
"You sure? This came so suddenly and all –"
"I feel your pain, Dad." His daughter's arms wound tighter around him. "You made a promise. I can't…it's not my right."
"Keiko…"
"If you don't come back…"
"The will has all the details. Besides division of assets, where I'd like to be buried."
"Dad…"
"I love you, Keiko. Thank you for everything."
His daughter wept. He held onto her, unwilling to let go, if only for this precious space of time. Thank you, Mariko. Yasu. I love you all.
Forty three years later, Kyo set foot again in Osaka, Japan.
The city had changed – was even more crowded and urbanized. People everywhere, construction, new buildings standing in spots he hadn't seen before and places he once knew were gone. He couldn't tell until he got within viewing distance from the taxi and as they approached downtown, he noticed the difference.
He was afraid. Afraid the cemetery was no longer the same.
What if Yagami's grave was no longer there? What if earthquakes had happened? Floods? What if the gravestone was unreadable or he forgot where it was?
Fears bit upon him; anxiety beset him.
He found the address of the cemetery online and gave it to the driver. It'd been so long that he wasn't sure if his memory was reliable. The city had changed. He couldn't be too careful.
Streets he once rode his motorcycle upon. Intersections with traffic lights and signs he once knew. After being in America for most of his life, traffic in Osaka seemed new again to him. Here and there walked pedestrians: salarymen, young women, young men, older women with shopping bags or children in hand, juvenile delinquents with mohawks and street fashion, and schoolchildren with chaperones passing by. The whole scene gave him a strange sense of time gone by – looking back into the past via the future.
He felt old. He was old.
The lights changed and the taxi driver continued driving.
Kyo settled back into his seat, glancing out the window. Once, he and Yagami strode upon these streets, through the crosswalks, jostling their way through the crowd. Once, the world had been theirs and they were on top.
But that was several decades ago and the world had changed.
He changed. Yagami was gone before Osaka altered – his death being the most significant shakeup in Kyo's life. So many adjustments after and none he could've foreseen.
Mariko. Wife, mother, partner. Beloved.
Yasu. His boy lost too soon.
Keiko. Forever his little girl – forever the jewel in his eye.
All those blessings. All that love. A new life. A new beginning. He'd been given those and he cherished all of them.
He'd had a good life. A long life.
His mother managed to see his children – became a part of his and their lives – which was another blessing. He'd been forgiven by her for an offense which in most families would've shunned him or had him locked up and executed for murder. Shizuka Kusanagi – a most formidable woman and in the end, the mother he admired and adored.
Terry Bogard. The first he reached out to in America. The first to listen and not judge.
Mary Ryan. The second to know. The second to help – to stand by his side.
The last he knew, both fighters were doing well. Southtown residents for life and still active in the tournament scene. Unlike him, they didn't have any baggage to carry into their fights, so they were able to hold their own against the younger stars.
Benimaru Nikaido.
Goro Daimon.
His former Japan Team teammates. The ones who helped him reunite with Yagami, however short-lived the result was. Beni had taken over his father's position in the family company when the older man retired. Goro was apparently still with his family, enjoying a rich full life.
The taxi pulled by the curb. The total fee showed on the electronic display.
Kyo opened his wallet. It was Yagami's – the leather well-worn, supple and marked with scratches and subtle food and rain stains. He handed the money over. Received his change.
Even the taxi fee had increased.
Getting out of the vehicle, Kyo steered his footsteps towards the cemetery's entrance. A quietness here that he'd forgotten. Rows of gravestones lined evenly along the landscaped and well-maintained grass. His footfalls softer now as he approached. Sunlight through trees. A breeze soft and warm passing through.
There'd been a breeze the day Yagami died all those years before.
Incense wafting from several holders as he walked by. The scent in the air, reminding him of the wake and service. Red carved characters in stones, signifying someone not yet deceased who wanted their ashes and bones buried with the dead. His eyes welled up at the sight. All those years before – Yagami's name in stone, black and stark. Alone.
He continued walking. Somehow, he remembered. At least his feet did.
Eventually, he reached the one gravestone that mattered. The one he'd left forty three years ago when he was twenty three, grieving and bereft.
There was incense in the holder, last of its smoke drifting up. A single yellow chrysanthemum in front of the stone. Chizuru Kagura, who always left a flower for their fellow Sacred Treasure. He knelt down. Extended a hand. Touched the gravestone – ran his fingers over the carved characters of Iori Yagami's name.
All those years ago. This same action.
"I'm back, Yagami. As I promised."
The photograph was faded, exposure to the elements leaching it of color. Yet, he still made out the youthful face, the telltale fall of hair, and the subtle expression the other wore. His heart ached. Dead at twenty four. Iori Yagami: enemy and rival and then lover. Beloved. Always beloved.
The sun shifted behind him, casting his shadow alongside the grave.
He was tired. Remarkably so. Weary.
His fingers slipped off the stone. Fell by his side.
And then, as though Iori Yagami had been waiting for him, as though all the years and distances were only numbers, Kyo thought he heard a voice. Sonorous, serious and full of love, of yearning, of emotions Iori had never been able to vocalize when he was alive.
"Welcome home, Kyo."
Notes & Comments
So, notes first: The last weight mentioned for Iori in this final chapter is 56 kilograms (approximately 123 lbs.). In Chapter 31, Iori weighed 58 kilograms (approximately 127-128 lbs.).
Onto the comments now: With the completion of this fic, this is my first ever completed long fic. Ever. So this is rather momentous for me and as tragic/bittersweet the story turned out, I'm so glad it got finished quite satisfactory (for me, at least). I didn't expect the epilogue to churn out Kyo's last closing arc in such a lengthy way, but in the end, I'm happy. He needed closure.
Thank you to all my readers and reviewers. Shout out to jojoDO for following this story from beginning to end (thank you for the awesome reviews!). It has been an amazing experience.