Chapter 26 - Journals
Today was far better.
Kurumi found the will to make breakfast.
It wasn't her usual rich fare, with careful attention to nutrition, variety, salt balance, presentation and personal preferences. The toast was blackened and the coffee was instant.
Kurumi seemed to be in slightly improved spirits. She did not greet Kusuo with her usual high pitched cheerful voice. She sat down at the table, a cup of tea in her hand, seemingly waiting. She did not smile, looking like a shell of herself. But she wasn't crying.
It was one of the tastiest meals Kusuo had in recent memory, even if he normally would have refused the decaffeinated swill and charcoal in the shape of a shrunken slice of bread. Seeing his mother finally getting back to semi-normal was one of the few good developments in recent times.
Normally, dad would be here and mom would have chatted him up, saying various sweet nothings to each other, being the type of lovey dovey couple who made their children want to crawl into a corner and die.
Kusuo would give anything for his parents to be that embarrassing right now.
Maybe it was time to tell/order dad to come back home. Return to routine. Get past all this. He needed time to fix his limiter problem and he believed that it would be easier to think and be more careful with handling the delicate devices once he felt settled at home. He wouldn't even mind dad begging him for teleportation favors.
Perhaps the future was still something he should still look forward to and plan for.
"What are you doing today, Ku-chan?" Kurumi asked. "Don't you have school?"
Kusuo blinked.
She had not asked after him in a while.
And how should he answer her? That he had withdrawn from school? That he had gotten a 'day job?' That he was originally planning on visiting his tungsten mine in Namibia?
Would she freak out if he said any of those things?
Was it safe to actually remove the germanium ring?
Grandmother Risa did say that that he must, at all cost, care for himself first, then care for others. That meant protect himself, first. Psychics with strong telepathy often go insane due to the inability to distinguish their own thoughts from others, like her younger sister Miha. In her opinion, given the incredible range of Kusuo's telepathy, it was amazing that he had made it this far with his sanity intact, without a germanium ring for most of his life.
Grandmother Risa was impressed by him, to say the least.
"I don't have school, today," said Kusuo honestly to his mother.
Kurumi seemed to take that in strides. "That's good. I think you should take a break, Ku-chan," she said, with that distant look about her, like she was wasn't there. "The bags underneath your eyes have bags."
It was then that Kusuo did consider how much he had run on adrenaline for the past few weeks. So many unpleasant new experiences in such a short time, with that underlying threat to his life constantly on his mind.
He mutedly wondered if psychics can get stomach ulcers from the stress. And if he did, how would he fix that? Anti-acids?
"Is that why this is decaf?" Kusuo asked distractedly, taking a swig of the hot sewer water and trying, somewhat failing, to keep his expression neutral.
Kurumi nodded, a hesitant smile about her lips, like she was being mischievous.
"Gross."
Oddly enough, a quiet chuckle escaped from Kurumi's mouth.
Music to Kusuo's ears.
Suddenly, Kusuo felt a pair of arms about him, squeezing him tight. There was a light kiss on his cheek. The brief touch was full of inexpressible agony at the loss of Kuusuke, but also boundless love, protection and concern for Kusuo himself.
The feelings were shocking, painful yet reassuring.
Mom was still very much grieving Kuusuke's loss to the point of the mere thought of him would bring a tear to her eye. But she tried to redirect her thoughts to Kusuo, her remaining son, and how he was still here, with her.
Even if Kusuo might end up leaving them unexpectedly, like how Kuusuke left them, if the limiters ever broke. That thought was too much to bear.
Until then, though, she needed herself to be cheerful for Kusuo, make the best use of the time remaining with him, however short or long.
Kurumi pulled away. She blinked and dabbed her eyes and cheeks with her sleeves. She sniffed. "I'm sorry Ku-chan. I'll do better, I promise." She forced herself to smile. "You do look like you've been punched in the eyes by a boxer. You should stay home today and rest."
Never the one to displease his mother, Kusuo nodded.
Kusuo got up and went to the stairs. In the background, he could hear the clinking of plates, cups and utensils, indicating that mom was cleaning up.
It was a sign that things were returning to normal.
Out of curiosity, he pulled the germanium ring off for a little bit, to test and see if the usual background hum of mom's thoughts had returned. The thought he heard was puzzling.
-I hope the medicine worked.-
After the breakfast, Kusuo returned to his room as he was told.
His mother was right. He should get more sleep.
It couldn't be helped, he supposed. It'd been nonstop work, dealing with Kuusuke's possessions. He dealt with the issues here at home during the day. Kuusuke's 'stuff' here in the country wasn't minor and he spent the morning dealing with that. Once 2:00 p.m. hits, it's a start fresh in Cambridge, UK where he played the calculating business executive. Lunchtime in UK was conveniently dinner time back home. Since he was the boss, he took an extra-long "lunch" which he took care of evening things at home like supper and checking in on his parents. Then it was back to his day/night job until midnight back home.
Wash, rinse and repeat.
There wasn't even time to process what had occurred.
In a way, he was grateful for it. Keeping busy prevented that sense of emptiness from taking over.
And now, it was probably catching up to him. It was still morning, but he had a small measure of fuzziness about the back of his head, like being covered by a weighted blanket.
He did take a look about his room, despite his grogginess.
The detritus of the Cambridge Office Building fire was still in his room. There were still bits of pieces of burnt carpet and ceiling tile, along with boring ol' research journals that got accidentally apported back with him weeks ago. The poor plant was sagging from lack of water. He was still missing a desk and some of his favorite books from the bookshelf.
It was then he realized that he had been so busy that he had yet to clean his room. Did he really withstand this filth for the last few weeks?
No. More like even the thought of cleaning made him think of Kuusuke's passing.
Since mom was finally getting over her grief, it gave Kusuo some encouragement to finally clean up.
He wasn't going to go lay down back in bed until his room was back to the way it was, before Kuusuke's passing made a mess of things.
Sighing massively, since he still felt pretty groggy, Kusuo went out of the room to find a vacuum, some cleaning supplies, twine and a couple of trash bags.
With the cleaning equipment in hand, Kusuo began cleaning the unintentionally apported stuff from the fire. While the vacuum went about the floor via psychokinesis, sucking up the ash, he tossed the burnt pieces of carpet and ceiling tile into the trash bags. He checked the local sanitation department's website to make sure the materials were 'considered' burnable. He used a wetted cloth to wipe down the dust on verticle surfaces. He watered the poor office plant that was positively drooping over.
Good thing no bugs, specifically cockroaches, were found during this time.
A bunch of composition journals, each bounded by a blue cover was vicariously stacked in the corner. It was one of mom's cleaning efforts earlier, back when Kusuo had his burning episode, to keep a debris-free walking path.
Kusuo guessed a bunch of his books was exchanged for these journals. He used the twine and tied these journals together, ready for recycling. There were quite a few volumes so he still needed to make several piles.
On a whim, he picked up one of the dust-covered blue journals that he haven't bounded and casually flipped it open.
Kusuo frowned when he saw the handwritten complex logic notations.
The neat lettering that looked almost indistinguishable from print was definitely Kuusuke's handwriting.
There was a date on the first page.
This was written back when Kuusuke was in seventh grade. He must have been thirteen.
With a confounded expression, Kusuo, quickly flipped through the pages.
The journal was completely full of mathematical proof, diagrams, hypotheses, conjectures and experimental results. On several of the pages were sketches of Kusuo's first-generation limiter, with arrow call-outs denoting the pieces and parts. Below the sketches were listing of the material types and related real-world specifications and tolerances.
Kusuo's jaws dropped a little once he realized what he was seeing.
This was what the unintentional apport had exchanged!
Kusuo's spare limiters were exchanged for items of equal value, which were Kuusuke's original, handwritten journals on the construction of the limiters.
And he almost tossed the journals out!
Kusuo quickly glanced through the oldest, roughest looking journal that he haven't bound in twine for recycling. The date indicated that it was the beginning of Kusuo's third grade, right after he transferred due to problems with his less than perfect handling of Asami's bullying.
Kusuo's eyes quickly picking up the isolated mathematical proofs that felt familiar to him. Kuusuke's notation (楠), clearly indicating that it was theory contributed by none other than Kusuo himself. Sections put together by Kuusuke were denoted as (空). Further on, there were clear references to other published scientific works and adjustments to the limiter design.
It was one of those moments where Kusuo was not sure if he wanted to laugh or cry.
Kuusuke did leave instructions about the limiters. From the original theory to the final assembly. And it was all here, in Kusuo's room, from the moment that Kuusuke was no longer able to help Kusuo.
Kusuo was literally only steps away from the items he needed, this entire time.
Had Kuusuke known that these would be needed? Had Kuusuke known that Kusuo would've found him? And knew that Kusuo would apport all the items home? Right when Kuuske passed? And made sure no digital or physical evidence was under threat of discovery by anyone else?
Kuusuke was no longer here to tell him anything. But there had to be a message within these journals. The fact that these handwritten tomes were here, when Kusuo needed them, was too much a coincidence.
Looking through, Kusuo located the oldest journal again. The edges of the paper were rough and curled from use. He opened the journal to a random page. Cold logic seemed to flow at first glance, but Kusuo knew better.
These were handwritten journals, not mass-produced books like the Weekly Shounen Jump and school textbooks. There should be psychometric memory on every single page due to the fact that Kuusuke had to spend time to jot down everything.
Removing a glove, Kusuo gently touched the page. A scene began to play before his mind's eyes.
Kuusuke was hunched, sitting on the futon with a book light and a lap desk, scribbling away. He looked to be ten, maybe eleven years old.
The journal was full of mathematical proofs. He had utilized the Roman and Greek alphabet as he was taught, but decided to use hiragana for some of the later notations. His right hand was getting sore from writing. It was sometime early in the morning, probably between two and three in the morning.
In the futon next to Kuusuke was Kusuo's younger self, peacefully sleeping. Upon closer inspection, the two were holding hands. A few more seconds more of inspection, it appeared to be deliberate psychometric sharing of experiences.
"Ku-kun," came a whisper from the door to the room. "Is..."
Kuusuke looked up from his notes. "Everything is alright, mom. He will be okay by morning."
"That's good," whispered Kurumi from the door. "Good night Ku-kun."
"Good night, mom," said Kuusuke.
Kuusuke looked to his little brother, who appeared about eight, nine years old. He lightly ran his hand through Kusuo's magenta-pink hair. In the dark, Kuusuke's voice rang. "Remember this. Mom has emotional extremes and needs regular reassurance. It'd be a good practice to tell her 'everything is alright.' I hope that, in the near future, Dad and I will have fixed this. But if not, she'll need your help."
Kusuo did not stir. Fast asleep
At that point, Kuusuke looked up and seemed to stare straight at Kusuo's seventeeth-year-old self. The telepathic message, in Kuusuke's lilting child's voice, from nearly a decade ago was clear.
-If these notes are needed, then you are the unwanted future. Go away.-
Kusuo found himself forcefully kicked out of the psychometric memory. It was so sudden that it took him a few moments to reorient himself.
He looked at the page he was on incredulously.
First of all, Kusuo never had such an experience of being forced off a psychometric memory.
Second, the psychometric memory of the journal of that time period was slightly different from Kusuo's own recollection of that time period.
The memory of them sharing a room when they were younger was the same as Kusuo's own memory. The Saiki family had a measure of financial hardship during the earlier years so the boy had shared a room.
The feelings of the memory, though, were something vastly different from what Kusuo had come to associate with Kuusuke.
In nearly all of his recollection, Kusuo had associated Kuusuke as an annoying, laughing, older brother. Kuusuke was creepy, sadomasochistic, obsessive and a complete jerk who threatened the peacefulness of Kusuo's life and pretty much everyone else's for personal aggrandizement. Kuusuke was the crazy sore loser who refused to give up after thousands of losses and was driven by the perverted possible pleasure of beating Kusuo.
The Kuusuke who left the psychometry impression on these journals was different.
The Kuusuke in the psychometry impression was just as driven, mentally deranged, and capable as Kusuo had recalled. But the happy, chuckling, self-absorbed scientist that Kusuo came to massively dislike, dared say, even hated, was not there.
Kusuo was almost overwhelmed by the protective feelings on this single page, mostly protective toward the image of his younger self.
It made no sense.
Why would an all-powerful psychic like Kusuo need protection?
And from such a weak, arrogant, selfish person like Kuusuke?
No. It should have always been the other way around. Kusuo's psychic powers were too powerful to overcome.
If that was true, then why Kusuo could not recall any one instance where he had to protect, watch over, guard even help Kuusuke? It had always been Kuusuke who was goading him into things, often with the threat of extreme discomfort.
-Kuusuke had abilities,- Kusuo reminded himself.
It was hard to know how much people's thoughts and memories that Kuusuke had screwed with. Or how much of Kusuo's own mind control actually affected Kuusuke. It never made sense, when Kusuo had the rare time to consider it, how Kuusuke could be so annoying and Kusuo never tried to change his brother through mind control, hypnosis or otherwise.
Kusuo was confounded by these conflicting facts.
Kusuo touched the same page again.
Nothing.
Was what he just saw through psychometry just a figment of his imagination?
Kusuo shook his head. No. He doubted that. If this was truly Kuusuke's doing, then the psychometry impression was real. And once an object gave up its psychometric memory, Kusuo's own psychometric impression replaced it.
There was only one chance to review the memory.
Good thing his eidetic memory should be sufficient to capture whatever background clues that were in these pages.
He must view another memory, though, to make sure that he was not just hallucinating due to being so overworked and stressed in the last few weeks.
Flipping through a few pages, he found himself looking at a table and a chart. Kuusuke's notations indicated something about the petrification of living creatures. Curiosity, Kuusuke's name was on the table.
Taking a deep breath, Kusuo touched the page.
"Stop. That marks one hour," said Kuusuke. He hit a stopwatch and scribbled the result in the journal. Again, he seemed to be ten, or eleven years old.
Images of Kuusuke in petrified form floated to the surface of Kuusuke's mind and he shook his head as Kusuo's child voice entered his mind.
-Aren't you at least stiff?-
"No. Put your glasses back on," said Kuusuke to Kusuo's younger self, "Mom and dad are almost home from their anniversary date."
It seemed like they were in the small living room, back in the old apartment.
Kusuo was still staring, quite intently, at Kuusuke, with naked violet eyes. He then scrunched his face and blinked, before rubbing his eyes and placing those green-shaded glasses on his face again.
-I'm glad X-ray vision doesn't work on you- thought Kusuo. -At least you're not disgusting to look at for an hour.-
"I'm not,"
-Why?-
"I'm the only guinea pig in this situation. I'd rather have a clone to be experimented on but the content of the soul matters in this case."
-Well. I don't want a clone.- There was peevishness in that thought. -There is only one niisan and that's you.-
Oddly, Kuusuke gave a look at his younger brother at that remark. He was picking up on something else. "And how many times do I have to tell you to stop being lazy? Talk."
-But it's sooo much more effort and it's sooo slow,- Kusuo whined. -You always know what I'm thinking anyway.-
"Practice now. There's always a time delay between speech and thought. Mere milliseconds can make a difference. What if something happens and I can't hear your thoughts anymore? Psychic powers cannot always be relied on and you never know if people truly hear your words."
The response was petulant but obedient."...Okay."
This time, Kusuo was not kicked out of the psychometric memory. The memory had ended and Kusuo felt himself gently leaving the scene like any other exercise of his psychometry.
The memory puzzled Kusuo. Did petrification and x-ray vision never worked on Kuusuke?
Thinking back, he could not recall a single episode when he petrified Kuusuke.
They did live together for ten years. Did he never once have an accident?
He definitely recalled petrifying dad before. It was how he figured out that his gaze was dangerous. Mom, he had petrified her at least a couple of times. Hell. He had even accidentally gotten their grandparents as a five-year-old. And it used to take time, minutes, when he was younger. That used to be enough time for him to react and look away, reset the petrification process.
Now that Kusuo was older, the petrifying sight was effective within milliseconds, which was really not enough time to react. It took the third-generation limiters to prevent immediate petrification again.
This was puzzling. If petrification never worked on Kuusuke, then why did Kuusuke always acted like it did?
And if he had fistfights, games of tags with Kuusuke, then how come he never once petrified Kuusuke? And shatter him for good? He had never been so freely physical with anyone else. People were delicate and break easily. Yet, that was never a consideration when it came to Kuusuke.
Let's not get started on x-ray vision.
Or that puzzling automatic obedience to Kuusuke's commands.
The feelings on this page indicated that Kuusuke had fully expected Kusuo to do as commanded, lightly cajoled, of course. There was an underlying, unquestioned trust throughout.
Did they actually have a normal sibling relationship?
Was Kuusuke an actual big brother, in all the expected sense of the word? Who protected him?
And if that was true, then why he could not recall any of that? More importantly, feel any of that?
What had occurred between then and now that completely changed Kusuo's perception?
What did Kuusuke do?
Suddenly, Kusuo realized that he was about to toss out these journals in his cleaning efforts.
Almost frantic, Kusuo untied the twine that bounded these journals for recycling at a trash plant. He needed these more than ever. The written information within them was important, but the psychometric memories were even more critical.
Simple thoughtography to copy the entire work would not provide him with a comparable duplicate. He must protect and preserve these originals.
Kusuo grabbed a new cleaning cloth carefully wiped the journals clean from dust that came from the Cambridge Office building fire. He placed the journals on his bed as he cleaned them, being careful to make sure only slightly damp cloth touched the covers and the edges. He could use restoration on these, but he was not going to risk any shenanigans from his psychic powers that might in any way alter or damage these journals.
Once he had cleaned the journals from dust and debris, and placed them on the bed, the sense of relief and drowsiness nearly bowled him over.
That heaviness in his head had tripled too, as well as a mild ache that seemed to have formed. It seemed from something else since there were no flashes of random memory or precognitive images of the future.
Maybe his body was finally reacting to the demands of the recent times. He had been working nonstop, sort of speak, taking care of his parents, handling his older brother's extensive possessions, dealing with Psi Industries, looking and getting frustrated by his limiter problem.
He was in bed now, finding a spot among the volume of journals to lay down. Feeling the heaviness of his eyelids.
He held up one journal that he had flipped through originally. It was the oldest one in the collection, thinking.
Kuusuke was a genius. There was no doubt in Kusuo's mind that Kuusuke could recall everything that was written in these volumes at will. In looking through Kuusuke's possessions, Kusuo knew that keeping a daily log of thoughts was not part of Kuusuke's routine. Kuusuke was a master computer wiz and kept most of his academic writing and whatever nosense digitally and printed things out instead. Kuusuke kept very little paper. Nothing in the inherited posessions, physical and digital, had any indication of the text that were in these journals.
Combined with the psychometric memory that Kusuo just witnessed, it only meant one thing.
Kuusuke deliberately hand wrote these calculations, proofs, theories on the construction of limiters down in these journals, imprinted the psychometric memory into them, solely for Kusuo's benefit.
It was strange.
Kuusuke was supposed to have been the asshole who kept the secrets to limiters to himself, and lord the fact over Kusuo's head forever. And for all intent and purposes, Kusuo had thought that, all his life.
In reality, his older brother cared enough to go out of his way to write everything down, in pen and paper. The feeling in the couple snippets of psychometric memory within the page left Kusuo no doubt.
Even more, these tomes were here, before Kusuo realized that he needed them.
Dad was right.
Kuusuke always came through.
Kusuo dropped his arm, leaving the journal that he was holding on his chest.
He felt his heavy-lidded eyes droop and thoughts dropping off. He was physically and mentally exhausted by the events of the previous weeks. His limbs were shaking.
Kusuo exhaled.
He felt the similar bodily parasympathic response as the day of the fire, forcing involuntary reactions of his eyes, his breathing.
It wasn't painful though.
There was an odd warmth in his chest.
Kuusuke was no longer here, but Kusuo felt that he had somehow, reconciled with his older brother. That they didn't part ways hating each other.
Before the sigh of sleep covered the all-powerful psychic, Kusuo whispered the words that he thought he would never say to his older brother.
"Thank you, Niisan."