For These Scars
~Chapter 17~
Written by: RinoaDestiny
King of Fighters, Kyo Kusanagi, Iori Yagami, Saisyu Kusanagi, and Benimaru Nikaido belong to SNK
It'd been little over a week before an envelope stuffed with yen bills arrived in his box. The pristine front bore the sender name Kenji Wakamatsu, the official stamp of the organization backing the band he was once with, and addressed to recipient Iori Yagami with his residential address listed. Just the sight of the band manager's name pained him; Iori closed the envelope and put it on the table. Scooping up the junk mail, he tossed them into the recyclable paper bin and shoved that aside with his foot. It wasn't time for his neighborhood's garbage collection yet, but he felt better today and decided to use the hours he had to review some unpaid bills.
One of them was his rent payment for last month. He'd been delinquent on that, but his landlord understood his current condition – unlike Wakamatsu – and gave him until the end of this month to pay it in full. Since he wasn't sure if he'd still be around by then – his body resisted all attempts to keep weight on – Iori made a note in his phone to take care of this soon.
There were bills for utilities as well. Those, he could pay off with his credit card or simply have a convenience store do it for him. That meant, though, taking a trip outside and with his deterioration, the likelihood of him passing out in public was high. He didn't want to go through that again and yet…he wanted to see Kyo. That meant leaving his apartment, taking the train, and heading towards a destination where he could see the other but Kyo couldn't see him.
Another pain – this one, sharp anguish.
He meant to keep Kyo safe. If Saisyu was capable of this, he was able to do so much more.
The clans were implacable when it came to their regulations. Had his father still been alive, Iori wouldn't have to worry about all this. Blood on sheets, staining them red. Crimson spatters on the floor. Wetness on pale flesh growing cold. He'd be dead and his father would go after the Kusanagi clan, using his death as a pretext to continue their ancient feud. Of course, his father would only be able to do that if the blood curse didn't exist. If he wasn't struck down and devastated by Saisyu Kusanagi's mysterious technique.
If the Yasakani hadn't changed who they were and declared blood feud against their ally, none of this would've happened.
But then he wouldn't be Iori Yagami and he'd never know Kyo Kusanagi.
It wouldn't be the same. Not at all.
Iori closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose with the tips of his fingers. He exhaled and winced, feeling the muscles in his chest tugging hard. His ankles were sore today and so were his wrists. The rings on his finger were heavy – he'd need to wear them around his neck soon – and the reminder that Kyo's gift was there calmed him a bit.
But only a bit.
If the Kusanagi clan was anything like his own, Kyo's staunch refusal to bend to his father's will would force Saisyu's hand. For a son to disrespect his father – for the heir to flout the regulations – without consequences would cause the head patriarch to lose face. That wouldn't be tolerated for long. Insolent and disobedient heirs in his family bloodline had been cut off – with one actually killed – leaving behind children raised by unmarried female relatives or men not yet dying of the blood curse.
He wasn't sure how the Kusanagi clan did it but it couldn't have been any different.
Flagrant disobedience was met with severity. Brazenness cut down before it could take root.
Kyo sneaking around his family estate, seeking out what was hidden. Kyo cared but Kyo was rash. The tunnel led from the Kusanagi archives to his father's study, Kyo had said. Iori knew upon hearing that where Kyo could've gone next. There would be no other place to keep a book of ancient techniques, made known only to one.
If there was a book, it'd be with Saisyu Kusanagi.
Iori rubbed the bridge of his nose again, the bone hard against his thinning fingers.
He was worried. They'd almost been caught that time.
Kyo had almost been caught that time, if not for his keen ears. If that'd happened and the truth had come out, Iori didn't have to imagine the consequences. Kyo would lose most of his privileges; Nikaido would no longer be welcome at the Kusanagi home, and he'd be dead before noon. The clan would wrap up matters quickly, suppress whatever information they could from leaking out, and move on.
Life would continue. That was just the way it was. That was how it always was.
Life continued for him, didn't it? Even the way he was now.
Iori lowered his hand and fidgeted with the rings on his finger, twisting them around. Kyo was always at the forefront of his thoughts and even more so now with him taking calculated risks. It made him nervous, knowing Saisyu and Kyo's uncle – Hajime, was it? – kept watch over him like hawks. If Kyo slipped up even once…
Being the heir wouldn't protect him. He'd be made an example of – a lesson for posterity.
He was sure it'd hurt Saisyu to exact that kind of penalty on his son but the clan came first. That was how he was taught; that was how Kyo was taught. They'd followed that for years – hated each other because of it – and then rejected it by finding common ground. By finding each other. By looking past the familial hatreds and prejudices and by doing so, cast their clans' ironclad rule aside. However, that was only them. They'd known that; hence, keeping their relationship a secret.
He hadn't expected to be nearly killed that afternoon.
He hadn't expected Saisyu Kusanagi to be the one delivering that unforgettable message.
Heat in his veins and fire in his lungs.
I had six months. I should be grateful even for that.
He was looking at less than three weeks. Maybe not even that, if he couldn't stop losing weight. He hadn't eaten today – no appetite – and wondered how soon it'd be before he couldn't get out of bed. All his future medical treatments for his burns – pointless. Iori felt his death looming, incipient and thought back to what Kyo told him.
His old man had lived for close to six months afterwards.
Kyo believed he could do the same or better.
Iori gazed down at his hand, at the skin and bones it was becoming. He was trying; yet, his efforts were for naught. Whatever he gained, he lost just as quickly. He wasn't going to have six months. Or even three.
He wasn't like his old man. He wasn't that lucky.
He didn't want to die – wasn't ready – but that, too, wasn't his choice.
He'd had six months with Kyo. Perhaps that was all the time he was given. He clenched his hand into a fist – grip weak – and uncurled his fingers slowly. Gazed up at the ceiling and then back down. Took a deep breath, winced, and let his hand fall alongside the chair. Iori closed his eyes and leaned his head back.
Kyo was going to come find him but for what? He wasn't going to last.
You're not dying like a dog. Not like that…not like…
How was he to stop it? How? There wasn't any way for him to…
Check yourself into a hospital. They might…
He didn't want to go back. The first time was enough. But they had fluids and ways to keep him alive and at least he'd have a fighting chance. Here, like this, he was helpless and could only watch himself waste away. What kind of end would that be? What would that do to Kyo?
Kyo was rash. Kyo was volatile when upset. If he died and Kyo saw that…
It'd turn him against his clan. Against his father. You can't allow that to happen.
It'd destroy Kyo. He couldn't…
Iori opened his eyes. Took his phone out of his pocket. Pulled up one specific name.
He began to type.
Nikaido, this is Yagami. I need to speak to you. It's about Kyo.