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Ohohohoho! We've reached my personal favorite part of the series -- the dinner party scene! This is where it gets good! In the next three parts of this fic, nearly every living Chosen gets to narrate at least a section (well, 'cept Daisuke...poor Dai-san, he's all lonely in America, after having had such a tragic life...;_;), and I hope that there's enough to satisfy everyone's tastes!

Honestly, each part really feeds directly from the last part -- dividing this fic into chapters was more for convenience and easy handling of the fic chapters. I really like this part, as not only do I finally write from the point of view of a real writer (whatever one might say about Toei's handling of the Chosen's careers in adult life, I am extremely happy with Takeru's job!), I reach the scene that is basically what I've been building up to for the last two parts. While it spills over somewhat to the next part (there was such a great [from *my* POV] place to stop it that I had to divide it there), this chapter contains the Big Scene. ^_^

Hamasaki Ayumi, for those of you without detailed knowledge of Japanese popular culture, is a very famous idol singer. A rather cruel way of phrasing it is that if Hamasaki Ayumi was an American singer, I would despise her, but since she's Japanese, I willingly adore her. ^^;;

"Where are you taking me?" Sora asked as she followed Koushirou through his house.

"You'll see," he responded. Sora frowned but continued following.

After a short journey, Koushirou opened a door and presented her to the sight of...ta-da!...his bedroom.

"Um," said Sora, uncomfortably. The room looked like a hotel room, devoid of personality.

He turned to her, black eyes snapping with amusement. "You know, you're the fourth female to ever see my bedroom -- and two of them were my daughter and my mother."

"That must have been some party," Sora said without thinking. "Who was the other female?"

Some of the amusement drained from his face. "Miyako," he admitted.

I knew it, she thought. "How long ago?"

"Six months...no, not exactly! It was after...and anyway, we were just passing through!" He indicated the door ahead of them.

"What, is there more 'equipment' stored in the back?" Sora nervously joked. "You know, pineapple-scented condoms, black leather pants, the works."

"Pineapple? Eh?!" Koushirou looked faintly disgusted. He pulled a tiny silver chain out from underneath his shirt. On the end was a key. "Let's find out."

He unlocked the door. Sora was treated to the sight of his study.

Koushirou seated himself at the hugely powerful computer. Sora hung back and watched his long fingers tap rapidly at the computer. After a few minutes, he began to speak.

"Ken...Ken had given me his memoirs. In his will. He'd left them to me. For the past six months, I've been trying to figure out what he wanted me to do with them. I mean, I've read them all...they go back quite far.

"They're quite detailed. They start just after Wormmon was reborn, so he still remembered, quite clearly, what it was like to be the Kaiser, to have something like that control you. It's a journal of sorts, I suppose. Fascinating from a psychological standpoint. Heartbreaking from a friend's view.

"I keep wondering which of us Chosen should read it. I can't keep in this knowledge much longer, but it wouldn't be appropriate for everyone to read them. I was a good friend, a contemporary, although we'd rather drifted apart as we grew up...I don't want Miyako to read them, not for a year, and I think you'll understand why when you read them."

"Me?" asked Sora, surprised.

"You," Koushirou nodded. "You're the best choice, I think. You're kind and considerate and you won't...judge him. Ah. The file's open. I've highlighted a few sections that I wanted you to read." He exited the chair and motioned for her to sit down. Sora, rather awkwardly, sunk down into the chair, which wasn't quite as comfortable as one might have expected.

Sora brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear and began reading.

For the next quarter of an hour, there was dead silence, except for the electronic hum emanating from the computer and occasional short gasps from Sora.

When she was finished, her stomach had curled itself into knots, empathizing Ken's pain and torment.

"See why I hesitate giving this to anyone?" Koushirou asked quietly.

Mind whirling, Sora nodded. Oh my...Ken...Miyako...Daisuke.

"What are your feelings towards Miyako?" Sora asked suddenly. She swiveled the chair towards him, even though his back was towards her.

"Who wants to know?" he shot back.

"A friend. Of both of you."

"I..." he started, then stopped. "I never changed in my feelings."

Sora's eyes softened. "Are you afraid of whether she feels that way as well?"

"I know she doesn't," he said flatly. "It's too soon to even think about it, and even then, I had my chance. And blew it."

"That was nearly twenty years ago," Sora protested.

Koushirou shook his head, still facing away from her. "I think...I think I can be happy in the knowledge that I love her, even though she doesn't love me back. As long as she'll be happy, I'll be happy."

"Love's not supposed to be like that!" Sora protested.

Koushirou finally turned around. Sora wished he hadn't. The look in his eyes was unnerving. "When has love ever gone according to storybooks? It doesn't always work out -- in fact, it rarely works out. I'm not going to risk it. I've got too much to lose by losing control. Having her as a friend again...is enough."

"Love works out more often than that," Sora said weakly.

"Tell that to Yamato," Koushirou snapped.

Sora felt like she'd been slapped.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, looking surprised at his own spitefulness. "That was inexcusable of me." Sora nodded. "But you understand my reluctance."

"You won't be satisfied with being her friend forever," Sora warned.

"I know. But no one lives forever. Ken proved that." Sora gave him a sharp look. Koushirou avoided her gaze and checked his watch. "It's nearly six. The other Chosen should be coming soon." He walked to the door and motioned for Sora to exit the room. After a moment's pause, she got up and walked out.

After Sora left the room, Koushirou turned off the light and locked the door, leaving Ken's memoirs glowing on display in the darkness.

---

Miyako looked around and realized she was the only person over four feet tall left in the room. Eep.

"Hawkmon," she called, "where did you put Ari's booster seat?"

"It's over here," Hawkmon said, pointing. Miyako hurried over to it and settled Ari down carefully. He was over his crying jag, and seemed ready for sleep.

She looked at Hitomi and Osamu. They looked back. Miyako found herself strangely unsettled.

From pictures she had seen of Ken as a child, she knew that Osamu looked just like him, even down to the hairstyle. The only difference was in the color of hair -- her violet shading, not his dark blue. Otherwise, he was exactly like Ken, in every way.

Miyako knew that Ken hadn't been a genius in his youth -- in fact, from what he'd told her, he'd seemed to be rather...simple. But still...

Miyako had had Osamu tested discreetly -- and not so discreetly -- several times. She'd found out that his IQ was so high to be practically unchartable.

That had worried Ken more than anything.

"What if he's inheirited the remnants of the Dark Seed?" he'd asked once, lying in bed, blue eyes gazing at more than just the ceiling. "What if...what if he becomes another Kaiser?"

"He won't be," Miyako had said instantly. "It's..it's not the same."

"How do you know?" he'd snapped, tight-lipped, and Miyako retreated. She knew that he was yearning for Daisuke, his best friend, his savior, the man who had moved to America bare weeks after Miyako's and Ken's wedding.

She'd always kept a close watch on Osamu, especially after Ken's death. She knew that most of the reason Ken had been such a target for the Dark Seed was because of how his brother's death had affected him. Ken had always been closer with Osamu than she had.

Osamu hadn't seemed to be affected, at least not as deeply as Mikomi, who had spent a significant amount of time out and away from the apartment and who spent the rest of her time moping in her room. Osamu had just seemed to be the same as ever, very quiet, very withdrawn, in some way beyond her.

Miyako worried about him, but didn't know how to show it.

She knew that Hitomi was her son's friend, but she'd been unaware of how close they really were. Hitomi looked so much like a small, female Koushirou that it was rather hard speaking to her without comparing her to the baby pictures she'd seen of Koushirou. Even if she was adopted, she looked just like him.

The major difference, Miyako decided after several moments of studying Hitomi, was that Hitomi seemed to generate a cloud of cheerfulness and happiness around her as unselfconsciously as a sun emited beams of light. Koushirou, even as a child, had always had an air of studious disapproval -- "go away, I'm doing something more important than talking to you." Iori had a bit of it as well.

"Yes, Ichijouji-san?" Hitomi said politely. Miyako realized she was staring at the girl, and blushed.

Not fair! Even his daughter makes me feel unsettled!

"I was just wondering if you have any music that we can listen to while waiting for your father to return," Miyako said back.

Hitomi promptly walked over to a computer and started typing in a few brief commands. After a moment, she gestured for Miyako to join her.

"This is Daddy's entire music collection," Hitomi said, pointing to the screen. "It's all up on the screen. The way Daddy set it up, the picture of the album it was on will display...just touch the album you want, and then select the track. A lot of the music is from when he was a teenager. He's very proud of his music collection, so don't make fun of it."

"I won't," Miyako promised, smiling. Being around Hitomi had that effect on most people.

Bemused, Miyako flipped through the titles. Koushirou may have been a classical music fan -- different classical works took up a good half of the collection -- but there were plenty of other kinda of music to satisfy her tastes...

...Was that the album she thought it was?

Miyako paused in her zipping through the files and hesitantly reached out to touch the album. It was. It *was*. My god, he still has it?

It was a Hamasaki Ayumi album. To be specific, the same album that she'd brought in to a Computer Club meeting one day, to Koushirou's displeasure. She'd gotten through about three tracks before he'd been hooked. He'd taken -- borrowed, was the word he'd used -- her CD that day, and hadn't given it back until he had a complete collection of Hamasaki Ayumi CDs. It had been to one of Hamasaki Ayumi's songs that she'd finally convinced him to dance with her at one of Hikari's parties. "C'mon, Izumi-sempai, she's your favorite artist, you have to dance." It had been to another Hamasaki Ayumi song chiming gently in the backround that she'd finally gotten up the courage to admit "suki dayo," I like you, to Koushirou, and heard him respond "suki desu yo," I like you too.

Miyako hadn't heard of Hamasaki Ayumi for..oh...decades.

Does he still listen to these albums, with all the bittersweet memories they must hold for him?

She turned back to the children. "I...don't really want to listen to this right now." A memory, a wisp of a conversation she'd had with Koushirou came to light. "Koushirou-san says that you're really good at playing the piano, Hitomi-chan. Will you play for me?"

Hitomi beamed. "Okay! Follow me!" Hitomi led the way out of that room into a different room. It was a very large room, a grand dining hall, Miyako thought, very tastefully decorated. There were three tables: one in the precise center of the room, the other two smaller tables off to the side. In one corner of the room there was a grand piano.

Hitomi sat down on the bench, her feet dangling off the black polished wood, a foot from the floor. She placed her slender hands on the keyboard and started playing.

It was a simple song, suited for a beginner, but it was very good, the melody pure and strong, with only a few sour notes.

"Excellent, Hitomi-chan!" Miyako applauded at the end.

"Very good," said Osamu.

"Of course it's excellent, Hitomi played it," Motimon said, beaming.

"I liked it as well," a masculine voice said. Miyako looked up and saw Koushirou standing in the doorway, Sora standing behind him. Koushirou's gentle smile was solely for his daughter.

"Daddy!" Hitomi burst out. "Now you play!"

"Me?" Koushirou asked, looking surprised.

"Please..." Hitomi cajoled. "You're so good!"

"I'm out of practice," he groaned, but let himself be dragged to the piano bench. His feet were comfortably settled on the floor. So, Miyako thought, this piano was for Koushirou and not for his daughter. His long fingers stretched out over the keys, and he began to play...

The music seemed to pierce through Miyako's skin and envelope her brain. The music was so sad, it created an actual ache in her heart, and she later remembered thinking "how can anyone with such pain locked in his soul still continue to live?" It cut through to every empathetic nerve in her body, and she felt like crying as the music filled the room and suffused her body. She screwed her eyes tight, guarding against the tears that pricked at them.

The key changed. Instead of sadness, a feeling of light and happiness spread throughout the room, like a premoniton of hope. As Koushirou continued playing, the music became altogether cheerful. Miyako opened her eyes and saw smiles on the faces of the other people and digimon in the room.

Suddenly, the chords faltered and broke off. Koushirou turned around and smiled sheepishly. "I haven't written that far yet. I'm so sorry for the low quality of my work; it really wasn't worthy to be heard by you yet."

There was dead silence in the room. It was finally only broken by Osamu's piping voice. "Sir, did you write that piece yourself?"

"Yes, I did," Koushirou responded slowly. Miyako's eyes were wide. She'd never, ever seen Osamu open up to someone who was practically a complete stranger before. Hell, Hikari could rarely get through to him!

Osamu cocked his head to one side. "How...how did you manage to put your heart in the piano like that?"

Koushirou gave a half-shrug, looking surprised at Osamu's choice of words. "I...I'm sorry, it just kind of happens. I can't explain it."

Osamu continued to interrogate Koushirou. "When did you start playing piano?"

"It was in my youth...I didn't begin to seriously contemplate playing until, oh, nearly twenty years ago."

Miyako didn't remember that.

"In twenty years, do you think I could be as good of a piano player as you?" Osamu asked seriously.

Koushirou's eyes softened. "Osamu-kun, if you practice really hard, I'm sure you'll be a better piano player than I am in no time."

Osamu smiled. Koushirou smiled. Sora moved slightly so that she was next to Miyako and whispered, "Miyako, dear - mouth looks better shut."

Miyako followed Sora's advice but directed a glare in the older woman's direction.

The doorbell rang. Koushirou looked at his watch. "Ah, six o'clock on the dot. It must be Iori and his family." He walked towards the entrance to the main hall, and everyone trouped out to follow him.

"Ne, Ichijouji-san," Hitomi piped in a clear voice to Miyako, "wasn't my daddy amazing?"

Miyako nodded. "He's incredible."

"I'll remember you said that," Sora murmured in an undertone, which made Miyako blush a bright red.

The door swung open, and Iori came in, one arm around his wife. Behind them, Himeko was talking excitedly to Mikomi. Miyako could see Taichi's family and Jyou and his son walking towards the door.

It looked like the party had started.

---

Takaishi Takeru had always been pretty perceptive.

When Takeru was little and in the Digital World for the first time, he'd figured out pretty quickly the emotional relationships in the group and had done his best to relieve the stress and lessen the pain when possible. As he got older, he was popular with everyone (with the noticeable exception of Motomiya Daisuke, whose rivalry had faded over the years) because of his skill of knowing exactly when to insert a kind word and smile to defuse angry tension into the cheerful smiles he was most comfortable around.

In retrospect, it might have been a reason why he and Hikari-chan had always been such close friends. She was so sensitive to the emotional climates around her -- so sensitive that someone else's emotional pain could actually physically affect her -- that his gift of always making sure that that the emotional temperature was stuck on "happy" was innately attractive to her.

The gift had stayed with him over the years. Idly, he wondered if it had manifested in his writing at all. He wasn't sure. It might be what made him such a good writer, after all -- his ability to get into his characters' heads and make them feel what he wanted them to feel -- and, by extension, the readers as well.

It had made him shiver when he had realized how manipulative his writing could be at times. He couldn't really change it, though. It was simply a side-effect of how his thoughts expressed themselves when written down.

As he stepped into the foyer of Koushirou's house, he took stock of the emotional situation. Luckily, it didn't seem too strained -- yet, anyway, although parties often ended up in flaming rows.

Hikari, who had entered right before him, gave him a slight glance underneath her eyelashes. He nodded slightly. No one would have noticed their silent communication except the most observant watcher.

His brother, who had once seen their silent communication back when they were in high school, had commented dryly that they acted like they were married already. Takeru had agreed, until he actually married Hanae. For all of Hanae's wonderful qualities -- and Takeru counted the years that he had spent in her company as some of the best in his life -- he'd never had the same rapport with Hanae in the four years they were married that he'd had within minutes of meeting Hikari. He'd never been able to get as much information from a single glance from Hanae as the loaded one Hikari had just given him.

Keeping to the orders that Hikari has oh-so-subtly just given him, he walked over to Kido Jyou, who was standing morosely in a corner, immersed in a vid-book, the electronic screen mere inches away from his glasses. Takeru tapped him lightly on the shoulder. Jyou flinched.

"Hey, Jyou, it's just me," Takeru smiled, although he wondered why Jyou was being such a recluse. While Jyou was never exactly the life of the party, it was rare to see him hiding in the corner at a Chosen get-together. "Is that book so good that you can't put it down to talk to your old friends?"

The doctor actually smiled back, although it was only for a short time. He tapped a brief command, and the screen went blank. "The writing is far inferior to your own," Jyou said dryly. Takeru knew the older man well enough to realize it was a compliment, despite the wry tone. Jyou brightened slightly. "Speaking of which, when's your next novel coming out?"

Takeru rubbed his neck with his hand. "I'm having a brief tangle with writer's block...and so far, the Block is winning."

Jyou's eyes widened slightly. "I thought that writing came naturally to you."

"More naturally than anything else, really." That was a semi-true statement -- Takeru had never really envisioned himself as anything when growing up, prefering to focus on the now. When Hikari suggested in their second year of high school that he should start writing down the events of their youth before it had faded too far into the halls of history, he'd done so merely to oblige her -- but he'd found an unexpected pleasure in linking words together. By simply writing what he knew, he'd become an international best-selling author with his first novel before he'd graduated high school, and he'd continued on from there. "Don't worry, I'll finish before my deadline. I always do."

"What's your latest novel about?"

Takeru started recounting the plot to Jyou, who listened intently. Takeru's novels were not exact histories of the Chosen's times in the digital world -- while they were based on the events the Chosen Children had gone through, Takeru had added his own creative twist to what had actually happened. (Among other things, Takeru was cuter and wittier than any of the other Chosen actually remembered him being. Mercifully, none of them had ever called him on it.) It always amused Takeru when his stories were described as 'historical fiction' -- things that had happened to him twenty-five years ago weren't exactly like the dusty annoying books he always remembered hating reading in class.

The strangest thing about his writing to Takeru himself was that he did have that unexpected gift of figuring out the emotions and inner turmoil of the characters he was writing. In almost all cases, the emotions of the characters matched perfectly with the actual emotions of the Chosen he was writing about. It worried him in a distant way. How am I able to do this so often? How am I able to get inside their heads?

Is this how Hikari-chan feels?

As he spoke with Jyou, Takeru's eyes automatically roamed the room to spot his son. Mori was surrounded by a group of the older children, including Jyou's son Shuten. Takeru was rather proud of how Mori acted; it takes a rare soul who can manage to grow up fairly normal when faced with a father who every so often would lock himself in his study with a bag full of popcorn, two pieces of dry toast, and a case of sodas, write like his life depended on it until three in the morning, and then sleep like the dead until noon. Even though Mori was the son of a single (and, Takeru admitted, somewhat eccentric) parent, he seemed to be turning out all right indeed.

The rest of the party seemed to be slowly drifting into the dining room, and who was Takeru to resist the calls of fate? He and Jyou also made their way to the dining room. There were three tables. One was obviously for the digimon, judging by the lowered table legs and extra-large plates. (Takeru knew, without even thinking about it, the expressions of joy on the faces of the digimon.) The second was probably for the children, as Hitomi was sitting at its head. That left the third, centered table for the adult humans.

Takeru sat down near the middle of the table between Iori on his left and Hikari on his right. Taichi sat across from him, his wife Umi sitting beside him. On Taichi's other side was Jyou.

Koushirou sat at the head of the table, Miyako on one side, Sora on the other. Mikomi and Kakeru were apparently sitting at the adult table, as they sat next to their respective mothers. Izumi Satoe, Koushirou's mother, sat at the foot of the table, directly opposite her son. Reika, Iori's wife, sat between her and Iori.

Takeru was fairly sure that Koushirou didn't have servants normally, but for tonight there were hired people placing dishes down and taking away the empty plates. Takeru wasn't sure of the term to use -- caterers, perhaps? The food was excellent. The wine served was even better. He ate and drank. And drank. The others were doing the same, as well. In some cases, they were over-indulging.

As naturally as breathing, Takeru's mind slipped into Narrative Mode. His mind took in the scene around it and prepared it for a scene in one of his books. It was a pleasant feeling, as though his mind had been wrapped in a blanket and was free to dream...

While to a casual observer the party might have seemed to be a success, invisible lines of tension ran through the room. Not even the best efforts of the cheerful Yagami siblings could get the tension to dispel. Conversation was muted and short.

At the head of the table, Koushirou and Miyako looked as though they both regretted this party. Sora, however, was watching them intently, scrutinizing every word they said, as if the two of them together made up a puzzle she wanted to figure out.

Panning down the table, only the two children, Mikomi and Kakeru, were speaking in their normal tones. Even then, their conversation was about trivial things: homework, favorite vid-books, some new pop artist. Taichi's face was going to be strained tomorrow with the effort of smiling so hard tonight.

Perhaps the most worrying of all was Jyou. The self-proclaimed responsible man of the group, who rarely drank at all, had already downed six glasses of Koushirou's (very good) wine. Jyou was well-known for not being able to hold his liquor. Iori and Reika across from him looked very worried.

A baby's shrill cry broke the uneasy silence. Miyako rose swiftly with hurried apologies and hurried over to the farthest corner of the room, where Ari had just woken up. She picked him up and started rocking him back and forth. Satoe disappeared into the kitchen.

Jyou leaned forward, ending the awkward silence that had started with Miyako's departure. "So, Koushirou," he said in a too loud, slightly slurred tone. "When are you going to ask Miyako to marry you?"

The room went dead silent. Even Ari quieted down, as if to wait for Koushirou's answer. Miyako slowed in her rocking, and then stopped, her purple hair falling in front of her face like a curtain.

After an infinitely long pause, Koushirou answered. His voice was soft but carried to the far reaches of the room. "What makes you think I have any intention of marrying Miyako-san, Jyou?"

"It's obvious," Jyou said, his face flushed. Hikari flinched at the venom in his tone. "The way you talk about her, the way that you smile whenever she's nearby, the way that you'd move heaven and earth to make her happy -- it's just like..." Jyou faltered. "You're so in love with her, it's not funny. Why haven't you asked her yet?"

With a start, Takeru blinked, and realized that the events he'd thought he'd been dreaming up were actually happening. His lips moved silently as he gazed at Koushirou.

Sora buried her face in her hands.

Taichi looked at Jyou in alarm. "Hey, man, you're drunk."

"Not drunk enough!" Jyou said with a horrible sort of false cheerfulness.

"This is so...wrong..." Kakeru whispered.

"How did he know?" Hikari said, equally as quiet.

"Everyone should just calm down," Umi said authoritatively, although without much hope.

"But is what Jyou-san said...true?" Reika asked, brown eyes wide.

"I hope not," Iori said grimly.

"I knew it!"

Everyone looked to Mikomi, who had just shrilled the last line. She stood up.

"I knew you liked my mother! I knew it! I bet she hates you now! You're never going to be my father, you stupid...you..."

"Mikomi!" Hikari snapped, eyes wide.

"Oneesama!" Osamu cried out from his place at the other table. All of the other children and digimon had been watching in silence.

Kakeru pushed his chair back with such force it fell to the ground and dashed around the side of the table to Mikomi, who was ranting incomprehensibly. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she burst into tears, burying her head into his chest. Looking a bit confused, Kakeru patted her gently on the back and fixed his eyes on Koushirou, who had apparently frozen in his spot, a deer caught in headlights.

"I..." breathed Koushirou. "I..."

There was an audible thud as Jyou's head hit the table. With that, Koushirou made up his mind.

"This party is over!" Koushirou roared, and stormed towards the stairs -- which happened to be in the corner Miyako was inhabiting.

---

Koushirou didn't know what had happened. At one minute, he'd just been having a slightly boring dinner party. In the next...Jyou had spilled to everyone that he was in love with Miyako.

How did he even know in the first place? He was too upset to deal reasonably with anything right now. What he needed was to go to his office and work on something. Any project would do, he just had to do something, so that he didn't have to focus on...

So that he didn't have to focus on Miyako who had stood up right in front of him, blocking his undignified exit. Ari was sitting in his booster seat again.

"What do you want?" he snapped.

Her bangs were covering her eyes, and her voice was low. "What Jyou said...was it...was it true?"

Koushirou stared at her. In all the ways he'd imagined admitting his love for her -- some of them being rather, um, private -- he hadn't imagined this as being one of the ways.

"Yes. It's true." She looked straight at him in disbelief. He met her eyes, then looked down -- it was too painful to stare at her. "I love you. Now let me through!"

He pushed her, but gently -- not enough so that she'd fall, but enough for her to move. Then he slammed up the stairs and into his room, where he fell on the bed, not sure whether to cry or curse.

---

Miyako was silent for a few minutes, collecting her bearings.

He...he...he can't be serious...he can't...Koushirou can't love me!

"Iori. Hawkmon. Hikari." Her voice was rougher than she'd intended. "Please...please make sure my children get home safely."

With that, she fled up the stairs, following Koushirou's path.


Ah! I'm so evil, ending it there! Please review, and I'll get the next part out as soon as possible!