Warnings: None
Lucky Child
Chapter 51:
"Surprises & Prophecy Fulfilled, Part 3"
One cool green eye flicked upward, away from the pale hands working deftly at the lock of the teacher's lounge. "You know. Typically when one breaks and enters, the goal is to steal something," Kurama remarked. "Not leave behind more than you found."
"Yeah, well," I said. "When have you known me to be typical?"
"Alas, never." And he looked at the lock again. "You certainly have a way of keeping one on one's toes…"
Shifting from foot to foot in the dim hallway, I glanced to our left and right with a shiver. Even with the summer heat bearing down around us, being in an empty school felt, in a word, creepy. Creepy as hell, actually. I just wasn't used to seeing normally busy place so dead, y'know? Every time I moved, the backpack on my shoulders rustled, sending sibilant whispers echoing through the darkened halls. Few things struck me as creepier than an empty school, that's for sure.
"And you do, too," I said to distract myself. "Keep me on my toes, I mean."
His eyes flicked up to me again. A click and a crack later, the lounge door opened under his hand. Kurama gestured me through ahead of him with a murmur of, "And how do I manage that?"
"I mean, you picked the lock with a paper clip," I said. Kurama laughed at my disappointed tone of voice. "I thought you'd use a magical plant or something. Or at least something more, I dunno. Flashy?"
Kurama chuckled as I surveyed the room. The empty lounge had been neatly arranged before the teachers left for summer break, chairs tucked in and papers placed out of sight in filing cabinets. I charted the space for a minute or two before heading for the far corner and the desk sitting in it.
"I hardly think breaking into a teacher's lounge warrants use of my so-called 'flashier' powers." Kurama didn't follow me, leaning against the lounge door with arms crossed over his chest. "Unless there's something about this venture you're not telling me, Kei?"
I put a finger over my lips and giggled before turning and pointedly ignoring him. The vent behind the desk was easy enough to pry open with the screwdriver in my backpack, and just as easy to fill with a few items from said container (which I secured to the side of the vent with a length of duct tape). Perfect. Exactly as planned.
"What have you been hiding in here, anyway?"
Kurama had approached on silent feet, craning to look over my shoulder, but I managed to wrench the backpack shut before he could see too much. I didn't blame him for being curious. I'd been vague on the details this whole time, and this was the fifth spot we'd hit up that afternoon. My backpack felt half empty at that point; I'd left behind quite a few gifts for my future self, all positioned at key points throughout the school.
From Former Not-Quite-Keiko to you, Future Not-Quite-Keiko. And good luck.
"Oh, nothing special," I said with a big, fake smile. "Just a few bits and bobs to make the upcoming school year a little easier."
Though Kurama looked thoroughly unconvinced by my explanation (not that I'd been trying very hard to lie) he merely quirked a brow and let me have my secrets. We hit up a few more spots around the school—library, gym, and classrooms, among others—before heading outside. Kurama watched with a bemused smile as I marched smartly for the PE shed around back of the school, a few dozen yards away from the greenhouse where Kurama spent so much of his time. The front doors had been secured with a heavy padlock and chain; the doors opened a few inches when I tugged on them, but they didn't part enough to allow even Keiko's small self to squeeze through.
"Do you need me to pick that lock?" Kurama said.
"No; I have another plan."
The shed wasn't air-conditioned (few buildings aside from the school library had A/C at all) and boasted only one window on either side, set far too high up the wall for anyone to see through. Peering through the crack in the door afforded me a look at some stacked vaulting horses and crates of soccer balls. I couldn't see the back wall from the front of the shed—which was actually perfect for my purposes. I had a hunch, you see…
"Score," I muttered, with a smile at the sports pun. "This is perfect."
"What is?" Kurama asked.
"This shed. It's exactly what I wanted." I brushed off the front of my shorts and added, "Or it will be, if it's got a certain feature."
Kurama frowned, dark hair burnished a deep ruby in the summer sunlight. He followed at a more sedate pace as I jogged around the hut's corner, toward the back of the shack near the brick wall that surrounded the school grounds. Some bushes around the sides and back of the shack concealed the baseboards—and while that was good in the long run, it made it hard to see what I so desperately searched for. I shoved my hands into the leaves and pried the bushes apart, peering through the foliage through squinted eyes. Trees just beyond the school wall made it quite shady and dark around back of the shack, though. If only I had keen fox eyes…
A hand, white in the gloom, grasped a sprig of leaves just to my left. Kurama smiled, green eyes somehow luminous despite the shade.
"May I assist?" Kurama asked.
Well, who was I to turn down an offer of help from Kurama when said offer involved plants? This I had to see. Stepping aside, I watched as he placed both hands atop the bush and closed his eyes. For a moment nothing happened, but then the bushes rattled—and then they shrank in on themselves, leaves curling and retracting as though I watched time lapse photography in reverse, summer foliage reverting to winter desolation in a few seconds' time. No shower of sparks or energy glow accompanied this reverse miracle, but even so, my jaw dropped.
"Dude," I said, raising one dumbstruck finger. "Now that's the flashy stuff I was talking about."
Kurama chuckled. "I see. But please be quick. Although I could keep this up for quite some time, I fear the plant's health might be endangered if I overexert it."
"Say no more."
With the bushes reduced to skeletal frames of bare sticks, all leaves out of sight within their swollen bark, it didn't take long to scan the perimeter of the shed and find my target: a small ventilation and drainage grate on the back wall, about three feet wide and two feet tall, held in place at the corners by screws. The screws were a bit rusted, sure, but I managed to remove them and take the grate off the wall in about a minute. When I peered inside I saw a bit of space between the back wall and the sports equipment—but even if it was too small for me to fit, I could make the gap bigger if I moved some stuff around.
In short: This was perfect.
"Yup. Just as I suspected," I said, and Kurama's eyebrow lifted. "I've been scoping out the school ever since I transferred, and this makes a perfect bolt-hole, especially with a little hidden entrance like this." Experimenting, I wormed my legs through the hole, testing that it would indeed fit around my hips and shoulders. It's a good thing Keiko wasn't claustrophobic, unlike I had been in my past life. Thank my lucky stars for this difference between us.
Kurama's eyes clouded. "Much as I enjoy the suspense, Kei, may I earnestly ask what this is all about?"
I shrugged and went about replacing the grate. "I'm preparing for my future."
"Ah." He nodded at my cryptic reply. "I get the feeling I shouldn't ask, curious as I am."
"Sharp as always."
"And yet, ask I must." He offered me a hand when I started to stand, fingers cool and dry around my own. "Why do you expect you'll need a…what was it? A bolt hole?"
"Correct," I said. "A discreet little hidey-hole just for me when the going gets tough."
Kurama's eyes clouded further, and something around us rustled. For a minute I thought it was the wind, but I didn't feel anything on my skin, and then the scent of green and growing things perfumed the air. The leaves unfurled at the ends of their stems, bushes regaining their foliage in one enormous, shivering burst.
"Do you expect the going to get tough?" Kurama asked, voice as delicate as the hand he extricated from the nearly regrown bush.
"Yes," I admitted, though only after a healthy pause. Kurama had truly helped me today; I owed him at least enough of an explanation to soothe the worry clouding in his eyes. "For you, and for me, but in very different ways. And soon."
He considered that in silence, lips pursed, eyes sliding back to the grate hidden behind the bushes. Eventually he looked my way again, and I saw my explanation hadn't been enough. His eyes remained as clouded as a forest suffused in fog.
"May I ask what was in the bag?" he asked. "The items you left in the school?"
"Better you don't. I just hope I never have to use them at all." I had a hunch they'd become necessary, much as I hated the thought of using them. Head shaking, I said, "Anyway, that's it for me thanks to your lock-picking prowess. I'm done here. What next?"
Kurama blinked at me, apparently confused. "What next?" he repeated.
"Yeah. Anything you want to get up to today? Since we're already out and about and stuff."
Kurama frowned. "Oh. I don't have anything in mind." He looked only mildly discomfited when he said, "To be honest, if you hadn't called, I would've spent the day at home."
"Well, that's no fun." I jerked a thumb toward the teacher's gate we'd earlier hopped over. "Want to go hang out downtown, see what trouble we can scare up?"
"Not too much, I should hope," he chided. "I'd hate to worry Mother."
I imagine that if the account of my story were a manga, and not so many words scribbled in the journals under my mattress, the audience would see Kurama and me from above, strolling down the streets of Sarayashiki side by side. We spoke, but of nothing important, pointing out various shops and restaurants and sights, eating takoyaki off a stick as we baked in the summer heat. A bench in the cool shade of a ginko tree provided momentary relief. Kurama bought lemonade from a street vendor; we sipped in silence and watched the crowds pass by, until my curiosity got the better of me.
"Can I ask?" I said. Kurama eyed me askance, but said nothing. "What are your plans, now that she's better?"
It took him a long time to find the words—a long time filled with downcast eyes and measured breathing, hands and legs held perfectly still, as though he feared any sudden move might break the moment in half, send his intentions fleeing like a rabbit before the hunt. His hair looked nearly black in the shade, falling around his shoulders like shadow made solid.
"I confess I spend most nights pondering that question," Kurama murmured. "I never thought this far ahead, all things considered." He finally looked at me, smile wry and small. "I suppose I'll attempt to do well in school. Support her, as she has supported me. And then return to Demon World when she…"
He trailed off. He didn't need to elucidate. I knew what he was getting at. The pain and uncertainty in his eye said everything he couldn't.
"So that's possible for you?" I asked. "To wait so long, and then return to being a demon, as you originally planned?"
If my knowledge of his plans surprised him, he didn't show it. I suppose he was accustomed to me knowing too much by now. He merely shook his head. "I don't know, Kei. But my energy grows with every passing day." He raised a fist, staring at his closed fingers as if they did not belong to him. "More and more of my former power unlocks as I use my energy. I find myself…called, in a sense, to use it." The hand dropped back to his thigh. "I regret to say I do not know what consequences calling upon that power will wreak in the long term."
We lapsed back into silence. Kurama doubtlessly thought of his mother. I thought of the anime, instead. The Yu Yu Hakusho manga had skipped most of the fights in the Demon World Tournament, meaning Kurama's fight with Shigure—in which he vowed to never use his demonic energy again, and to live and die as a human—hadn't happened in the manga at all. Which version of canon would this world follow? Could Kurama eschew his demonic traits and live life as a human, or was he fated to regain his demonic traits and lose the part of him that had become so human?
The only way to find out, I supposed, was to wait and see. But that was so far off, and Kurama was uncertain now. Was there no comfort I could offer him? And comfort I wanted to offer, because the weary look in his eye sent a pang through my bleeding heart.
I crossed and uncrossed my legs. "Well. Whatever the case may be, your friends will be here for you, come what may," I said, because that was the only thing I could think of—and it was true, besides. Thankfully the words made Kurama smile, that tricky little smile that said he was about to make a joke.
"Friends, plural?" he asked. "So far as I know, I just have you."
"Give it time," I assured him, and then I placed a finger over my lips. "But I will say no more on the subject. Spoilers and whatnot."
He laughed—and some of the weight lifted from his eyes, deep green lightening to the colors of fresh spring.
We left the bench together, conversation turning back to nothing and everything, summertime a fizz setting carefree bubbles in the blood. Kurama was content to let me lead us through the city, our wandering aimless but pleasant. When we stopped for another rest, I caught him eyeing one of the nearby shops—or not a shop, rather, but something far more interesting. Jangling coins and the plink of digital music filtered out the open doors, perfect complement to the gigantic neon sign above them. Laughing kids scurried through the dark interior, faces awash with the glowing lights of their favorite games.
"Wanna check out the arcade?" I asked.
"I suppose," Kurama said, after a moment's thought. "I don't play many video games. A few here and there, and mostly when pressed by my peers, but…"
I frowned. He had been good at Goblin City in the Chapter Black arc of the anime—but then again, he had trouble working a record player. If Kurama wasn't good with technology, how was he good at games in the anime?
Interesting.
Interesting, and worrisome.
Maybe it was my job to teach him to play, or something. I certainly couldn't let this go unchecked. The Chapter Black arc depended on it, didn't it?
"Well, Kurama," I said. "Humans tend to have hobbies. Perhaps it's time you develop one of your own."
He only laughed when I tugged him after me by the sleeve, plunging us headlong into the glittering lights and sounds of the arcade. The place had that distinct arcade scent, carpet and plastic and plaster and burned wires, acrid and familiar. I spread my arms and spun in place, gesturing.
"So what's your instinct?" I asked. "Puzzle, fighter, racer? You've certainly got options."
Kurama's eyes looked almost blue in the light of the Galaga machine. "What would you recommend?"
"Well, I like games with story—role playing games like Final Fantasy and Dragon Quest. Those are more console-style games, not arcade games. I do love Mario, Tetris, classic stuff like that." I paused. "You'd probably enjoy a puzzle game like Tetris, if I had to bet."
"I haven't tried it. Lead the way."
Although Kurama claimed he'd never played the game, he took to it like a fish to water, clearing level upon level of blocks in short order. Only once the game progressed to a fast speed did he have trouble keeping up, but even so, he managed to make it onto the bottom of the leaderboard page on only his third game. I stood there with my mouth agape as it asked him to input his name, which he did—a cheeky KURAM, which he entered into the machine with what I swore was a subtle wink.
"I thought you said you'd never played!" I said.
"I haven't, but the concept is simple enough to grasp." He patted the machine. "I could grow to enjoy this. It's almost meditative, and with practice I'm sure I could go longer. But I wonder…" His smile was unmistakably devious. "Is there a harder version?"
I almost blurted that yes, there was a harder version, and I'd damn well like to see him get cocky playing it—but then I cut the words back.
The harder version was on the Goblin City machine: that version of Tetris that incorporated mathematics, where numbered blocks only cleared when they added up to the number seven. Three-Sevens, it was called. But should I introduce that game to Kurama so early? Come the Chapter Black arc, Amanuma would be killed by that game, and at Kurama's hand. And although the kid would come back to life, would teaching Kurama Three-Sevens make me, in some small way, partially responsible for Amanuma's death?
But if I didn't show Kurama this game, was it possible he'd lose to Amanuma?
The thought of those consequences made the decision for me.
"Um. There is, actually. Over on the Goblin City machine." I pointed in the appropriate direction. "But you have to play other types of games beside the Tetris-type-one to win."
"Oh?" he said. His eyes gleamed, and not from the dancing arcade lights. "That sounds interesting."
Feet heavy, I led the way to the machine, explaining the rules as best as I remembered them. Truth be told, I'd avoided playing Goblin City in this lifetime, simply for its association with Amanuma's eventual demise. Kurama took to that game (and all of its mini-games) as readily as he'd taken to Tetris; I felt only lightly disturbed by his abilities. Somehow, I think I'd expected this to happen. He was fated to be very good at this game, after all, and he was especially good at Three-Sevens when it appeared in the game's rotating challenge roster.
Kurama had no way of knowing that his new hobby (semmingly so innocent, seemingly so human) would one day lead to the death of a human child. Watching him stand at the machine, none the wiser as fate's strings wheeled around him, I wondered if I made the right choice.
Only time would tell, I supposed.
"I like this one, I think," he said when the game ended (he didn't win and kill the Goblin King, although he came quite close...for now). "The variety is a challenge all its own. You never know what task you'll be faced with next."
"Yeah. You never know." And although I'd rather lost my appetite, I slapped on a smile and asked, "Anyway, you hungry? It's about dinnertime."
Kurama hummed an affirmative, and because I wasn't quite in the mood for more surprises like the arcade, my feet took us back to my parents' restaurant. This time we didn't avoid my folks, partially because I wanted to see them this time around (even though they inevitably made a big deal of Kurama's presence). Bickering and bantering with my parents over dinner brought my mood up and away from how I'd felt at the arcade. They were good people, my parents, and I valued the way they never failed to bring my spirits up.
Too bad for me, they only seemed to bring Kurama's down.
He remained quiet through most of dinner. Even when my dad joked around with him, that old line about someone finally getting their too-serious daughter to do something besides studying on her summer break, Kurama merely offered a polite smile and said, "I think it's the other way around, rather."
"Oh?" Dad said, confused—and then he winked. "Are you sure? Because my Keiko sure looks livelier when you come calling."
My chopsticks fell to my plate with a clatter. "Da-ad!"
He didn't look sheepish at all, reaching over the bar to ruffle my hair. "Well, it's true, honey!"
"I know, but you don't have to say it out loud," I grumbled. Batting my dad's hand away, I said, "Don't mind him, Minamino; he's just teasing."
"I'm sure he is," Kurama said—but his smile looked brittle, and he watched my family's repartee with expression subdued.
I learned why once we went upstairs. It didn't take long after shutting my bedroom door behind us for Kurama to ask, "How do you do that?"
I frowned and sat on the edge of my bed, heels hooked into the frame below for purchase. "How do I do what?"
Apparently he hadn't expected to need to articulate his observations. His mouth opened and closed twice before he explained, "Your relationship with your parents is so…warm. And I wonder how you manage, given your circumstances." A low chuckle. "But I suppose this is the second set of parents you've had, isn't it. Shiori is the only parent I've ever known."
I considered him, watching as he crossed the room and sat next to me—about six inches away, but close enough to feel the mattress dip under his weight. Leaning forward, weight braced on my knees, I studied his face in profile, cataloging the curve of his jaw and the way his hair fell around his ears. His features, delicate and sculpted, bore a look of resignation I didn't quite understand.
"Did you not know your first set of parents?" I asked.
"No. Not in any sense you would recognize." He looked at the wall opposite my bed as though he could see through it, through the world beyond it, to something beyond even my imagination. "Foxes are weaned early. We part from our families before our memory even begins."
Though he spoke without emotion, I couldn't help but feel rather taken aback. To not remember one's family? "That's…"
Kurama shrugged. "It's the way of the natural world, neither good nor bad." When he looked at me, and saw my expression, the distance in his eyes closed a little. Kurama assured me, "I remember a feeling of safety and warmth, but my mother…she wasn't a demon. She was merely a fox: ordinary and wild."
"Right," I said. I'd researched this when I realized what world I inhabited this lifetime. "Kitsune start life as normal foxes and earn their demonhood over time. Is that how it works?"
"In a sense," he said. "Some are born powerful demons, of course, but others earn their abilities through cunning and longevity. With longevity comes power. Those kitsune who are born with their demonic power certainly owe that power to an ancient ancestor who started life a mere animal." And then that distance was back, framed by green the color of primeval trees and deep forest pools. "I barely remember the time before I ascended to demonhood. My memory starts with that feeling of warmth, and then I became what I am today." His eyes narrowed a fraction. "Or what I was, rather."
The implication sank in soon enough. "So this really is your first childhood," I said.
"In all the ways that matter…yes."
His gaunt smile, as effervescent as smoke, rendered me mute. There was something so tragic in that confession, in the idea of Kurama never truly experiencing the carefree life of a child, protected by a parent and allowed to freely grow under their watchful, loving eye. The animal world—and the demon world, no less—was a cruel place. Had Kurama spent his adolescent years on the run from stronger predators, never playing, never relaxing, never knowing what it felt like to simply be without the fear of death dogging his steps? How sad. And he had been born in this world already planning on leaving it. He hadn't been a child here, either.
Kurama caught my gaze, then. I swallowed and tried not to look horrified. I did a poor job, though. Kurama laughed under his breath, eyes fluttering shut, lashes sooty against his porcelain cheeks.
"I suppose that's why I have such trouble bonding with Shiori, much though I've come to love her," Kurama said. "I haven't had the practice you have, bonding with parents."
My grimace came of its own accord. "I don't know that that's it."
An interested glance. "Oh?"
"I wasn't close to my parents in my past life. So this whole 'darling daughter' stuff is new." I could only shrug, match his placid delivery with stoicism of my own. "I do my best to be a good child since I feel guilty about…well. You know." Judging by his wince, he knew what I meant; no need to state that I felt guilty for stealing another person's life aloud. I continued, "Maybe I'm eager to play the darling daughter role in this life because my parents and I were never close in my past life."
That seemed to surprise him. "Why was that?"
"It's complicated. My mother and I were too much alike to get along, for starters." My nose wrinkled. "And I'm relatively certain my dad was a narcissistic sociopath, but…I don't want to talk about that right now."
That part of my life was something I tried not to think about if I could help it. It wasn't like I was shy about how poorly I'd gotten along with my parents, but at the same time, I wasn't keen to relive all the crap they'd put me through.
Still, though. Kurama looked curious, angling his knees my way, eyes intent on my face. I heaved a heavy sigh and ran my fingers through my bangs.
"If it helps put things into context, they told me my grandmother was dying through a text message," I said. "That was the level of distance between us."
Kurama frowned, still looking at me. When he didn't speak, I scowled at him.
"What are you staring at?" I asked.
He looked away. "Nothing. But…may I ask what a text message is?"
I nearly smacked myself in the face. Ugh. Stupid of me; it was too early in the 90s for that term to have entered common parlance. "Ah. Right. Technology. Um…imagine a pager that can send a few paragraphs of text at a time, back and forth, and through a cellphone. Like instantaneous sending of letters, only digital."
His brow furrowed, but understanding sparked behind his eyes. "It sounds efficient, but I can't imagine it's a terribly personal method of communication. Much less in a situation such as the one you described."
"Exactly!" I said, absurdly pleased that he'd picked up on that so quickly. "You'd think I'd get a phone call, but nope. Just a text. It's not a good way to send a somber message, much less to your only daughter." Though a part of me wanted to keep this to myself, something about the moment begged me to admit, "I know I'm going to sound callous when I say I don't particularly miss my parents, but…I don't." And then I had to cover my face with my hands, peering at Kurama from between cracked fingers. "God. I sound like a terrible person." I'd feel guilty about this for weeks, I was sure.
However, Kurama shook his head. "Kei…"
"Don't get me wrong," I went on. "I care about my past parents' wellbeing. Objectively I know they'll be sad that my old self died, and I worry about that, and I worry about what they'll do now that I'm gone. I mean, they're my parents. It's tough knowing my parents are out of my life for good—but I've never gotten homesick for them specifically, and that's just the truth. Maybe I just miss the idea of parents, and not my original ones in particular." Admitting that didn't make me feel like a terribly great person, but at the same time, admitting that truth for the first time in this lifetime felt like the breaking of a glutted dam. "We'd go months without talking after I moved out of the house, after all. So this is just years instead of months this time around."
"Months without speaking?" Kurama said, eyes narrowed again. "Did they live far away from you, in your old life?"
"They lived about a mile down the highway."
His eyes widened. "And you'd go months without speaking?"
"Well, yeah." I shifted atop the mattress, not understanding the intensity of his stare or the odd, dawning comprehension in his eyes. "Right before I died, we were getting better at talking, but even so, we'd go for long periods out of touch."
Kurama continued to stare. I continued to shift—because while I'd wanted to emphasize that my past parents and I weren't close, his horrified expression and that strange realization didn't make sense.
Just as I began to ask what the matter was, however, it hit me.
We were Japanese, and in Japan it was common for several generations of family to reside together under one roof. In fact, households like mine and Kurama's—with just our parent or parents and ourselves—were in the minority amongst our peers at school. Since Japanese culture was the only human culture he knew, my distance from my old parents must sound even worse than it would if he'd been raised American.
Ugh.
My American friends had tended to be surprised by the distance between myself and my family, but to Kurama, that distance must seem utterly atypical of humans at large—which would make that distance seem all the greater.
I'd lost myself in thought, I suppose, because when he put a hand atop mine, I jumped. Cool fingers curled lightly around and under my own, firm but not constricting. Like he thought I might flee if he tried too hard to keep me still.
"Kei," Kurama said, tone low and urgent. "We've talked before about the ethics of our situations. But…no matter how guilty you insist on feeling regarding your presence in this world, I'm glad for one thing."
It occurred to me that we had never gotten this physically close before, and I'm reluctant to admit that my heart went a little nuts, beating against my ribs like a caged animal. "What's that?" I said, making every effort to keep calm.
Kurama smiled—a warm smile, if not a little sadder than perhaps even he intended.
"I'm glad you have a chance to find a family, in this life," Kurama told me.
We held that gaze for a long time. Of its own accord, my fingers laced through his.
"Thanks," I whispered. "And I'm glad for you, too."
Kurama's head listed to one side, curious.
"You have that chance, as well," I reminded him.
He looked surprised, for a second—like the thought that hadn't occurred to him yet, despite all the thinking and overthinking I know he must have done on this subject, so many times, so many nights, so many days spent wondering what he deserved and what his future held. He looked at me until a smile crested across his mouth, and then his eyes cast down—down to our hands, still laced together, the hands of two people who understood the other better, perhaps, than they understood themselves.
"Yes," he said. "I suppose I do." And he smiled at me again. "We're both lucky, in that respect."
"Lucky children indeed," I joked—and his laughter filled the room, darkness in his eyes forgotten.
The late afternoon sun sent golden rays through the living room window, dust motes sparking in their depths like microscopic fireflies. The rays turned Shogo's black hair mahogany and set his glasses to gleaming, coins in silver frames. After a moment of silence he glanced at his wife, smile open and optimistic. "So the fox demon wants to live as a human being, Kuroko. Isn't that interesting?"
Kuroko had listened to my story about Kurama without speaking, gaze trained steady on my face as I told the tale. I suspected she'd find Kurama's willingness to help me break into the school even more interesting than his thoughts on family, but I had left that part out on purpose. Stuck to the good bits about Kurama's desire to honor his mom and, y'know—be a good person? Trying to salvage his reputation as best I could, I guess…
Kuroko regarded me a minute, cheek braced against her forefinger and thumb, remaining fingers curled over and concealing her mouth. Shogo and I stared at her with obvious apprehension. At last she sighed, hand dropping as she sat up straight.
"While I wonder at his sincerity, this does give me some comfort," she admitted—but she held up a finger in warning when my eyes brightened. "Some, Keiko. I'll be more properly convinced if he sticks to playing human in the long term. He only did just make this change, after all, and old habits are hard to break."
My smile couldn't be contained. "He's the type who keeps his promises, so hopefully…"
"Yes," Shogo echoed, with a warning glance at his wife. "Hopefully he proves us wrong. Isn't that right, Kuroko?"
She gave a rather absent yawn, face turning to the window near the fireplace. The bright sun lit her dewy skin from within, smoothing wrinkles beside her eyes and curing the scant strands of silver from her dark hair. I felt my breath catch in spite of myself. Shogo had really lucked out, marrying a woman like her. No matter how much her stance on demons frustrated me, there was no denying her strength, presence, or poise—and that's saying nothing of how pretty she was. Hell, if she'd been single and I'd been in my old body (hello, late-twenties), she'd actually be my type. But that was in another life, and I needed to not be such a damn lecher.
"Well, it's getting late," I said. I tore my eyes from her and stood up with a low bow. "I should get going before the last bus leaves. Thank you very much for having me." As Shogo and Kuroko rose, I cast my eyes toward the hallway under the stairs. "Wanted to talk to Shizuru, see when she's coming home, but I think I should let her sleep."
"Someday you'll have to spend the night instead of running off so soon," Kuroko said. She walked to husband and pushed an elbow at his ribs. "Shogo makes a mean plate of pancakes."
"Next time, for sure," I said—because pancakes, oh my god, now that was a blast from the past I could get behind. "Any idea when Shizuru will be coming home again?"
Kuroko screwed up her eyes, finger on her chin in thought. "Let's see. I have one final test in mind. Two weeks, perhaps? She's developing a technique I'd like to see fully realized before I let her go."
It was tough to conceal my interest when I asked, "And what technique would that be?"
"Do you really want to spoil it?" Kuroko said with a light laugh. "I'd rather you see it in action than hear about it from little old me."
"Oh, give me a hint, at least," I groused. "Is it a spiritual technique?"
But Kuroko was not so easily led astray. "Let's just say Shizuru will be giving demons a run for their money in short order," she said—and while that wasn't an admission, something in her eye's proud sparkle promised greatness.
Seeing Shizuru in action would be like Christmas morning, when the time finally came. Hell yeah, motherfuckers; this was gonna be good.
As Shogo fixed me a to-go dinner to eat on the train ride home, I slipped down the hall to give Shizuru one final once-over. She slept in the same pose as earlier, serene even when I pressed a quick kiss to her forehead and whispered a 'good luck' in her dreaming ear. Kuroko and Shogo stood by the front door when I returned, one kerchief-wrapped bento in Shogo's hand.
"I'll walk you to the road," Kuroko said as Shogo handed me the bento. "The woods get dangerous as the day grows long."
I nodded an affirmative. While Kuroko had never explicitly stated demons lived in the woods around her home, the creepy horned skulls lining the mountain path spoke volumes—as did the people in the nearest town, who had warned me away from the haunted mountains the first time I asked for directions here. Still, even with the threat of dark-born demons, I wondered if I wanted her walking me to the road at all. Despite my admiration for her capabilities, conversation came easier with Shogo than it did with Kuroko. We could talk about books, and writing, and—
Oh. Right. I almost forgot.
Digging through my backpack, I pulled out the one object the twins had passed over when they tore through my stuff: a three-ring binder full to the brim with printed pages. I clutched this to my chest when I asked, "Sorry, Shogo-san, but can I ask a favor?"
The man frowned. "Yes, Keiko. Of course."
A deep breath, as necessary as it was comforting. "If it's not too much to ask…I know you're busy and I don't want to intrude on your time or energy, but my friend Kaito and I were talking, and, well, sorry to do this, but if it's OK—I'd be honored if you'd take a look at this manuscript I wrote," I said, words rushing like a riptide. Before he could say no, or even give me a beleaguered look (because surely people asked him for this all the goddamn time and it must be super annoying), I dropped into a low bow, notebook displayed atop my hands. "Very sorry if this is asking too much!"
That had been my other project that summer: writing one of the stories I'd dreamed up in my old life, and completing the novel I hadn't had time to finish before I died. I wanted to realize the dream I'd so unexpectedly lost in the event of my death. This time around the book possessed a thoroughly Japanese aesthetic I hadn't counted on, of course, but that made sense considering my new life experience. When I grew weary of the novel, I turned back to my many journals and the log of activities I'd been keeping—including this one, where I'm recording my interaction with Kuroko. This notebook is doomed to live under my mattress with all the other journals, though—and that meant my fictions manuscript was the only bit of my writing that would ever see the light of day in this lifetime. I wanted to share that work with Shogo, because frankly, I was tired of all my copious writing existing in secret.
I didn't dare look up when I felt the notebook lift from my fingertips. The pages rustled in the quite living room before Shogo said, "You've written a novel."
He didn't sound upset, or annoyed—just curious, and more than a little surprised. Straightening up, but still not daring to look anywhere but at his shoes, I said: "A good portion of one, anyway. It's been my summer project. If you don't have the time to read it, it'll serve as a handy doorstop, so…" And then I had to bow again because my cheeks were on fire and my heart had started to run its own private marathon inside my chest. "I apologize if I've imposed. I just don't really share my books with anyone, and I'm not used to asking for stuff like this, and I don't want to be a bother—"
"I'd be honored to look it over."
My head snapped up. Shogo regarded me with a kind smile, eyes crinkled at the corners, lips turned up with warmth and good humor—the kind of smile I didn't feel I deserved in the slightest, and one that made my nerves rise up like a swelling tide.
Luckily Kuroko knew how to break the mood. She shot me a sunny beam and said, "Oh, me too, me too! I'll read it!"
But Shogo tucked the notebook under his arm with a firm shake of his head. "Not so fast, my darling. Sharing a manuscript is a sign of immense vulnerability and trust. Writers don't ask just anyone to read their unfinished work." He patted the book's black spine, expression more adamant than perhaps I'd ever seen it. "You'll only read it once I'm finished, and if Keiko explicitly allows." Another kindly look in my direction, followed by a bow of Shogo's own. "I'm honored to accept this task, Keiko. Thank you for trusting me with your manuscript."
And with that, my nerves evaporated. That interaction, though brief, encapsulated why I valued Shogo so much. He was trustworthy, supportive, kind, and understanding, but more than that, he was a writer—and at the core of me, that's what I am, too.
Kuroko seemed less appreciative. "Oh, you're no fun, either of you. So serious all the time!" She cupped a hand around her mouth and whisper-shouted, "Shogo never lets me read his work, either, that spoilsport!"
"Now, now," Shogo chided. "You always get to read it before it hits shelves."
"But I'm your wife!" Kuroko teased. "I should get more privileges than that, shouldn't I?" She looped an arm around my shoulders. "Keiko, back me up!"
Too bad for her, I was definitely on Shogo's side—much to her lighthearted chagrin.
We were halfway down the mountainside when Kuroko spoke, voice cutting through the sound of buzzing cicadas like a candle flame through tissue.
"Keiko," she said. "You know I say those things about demon because I care for you, don't you?"
A warm wind stirred the shaved hairs on the back of my neck, tossing my side-swept bangs over my face. A bead of sweat trickled down my collarbone and under my shirt, between the cups of my bra. I didn't look at Kuroko or pause in my steady, even stride.
I didn't want her to see the uncertain look in my eye, for fear of what comment it might bring.
Her assessment of Kurama, I'm ashamed to admit, had struck a nerve. I'd had time to reflect on it during our walk down the path to the road, and my conclusions…well, they disturbed me. Kuroko was right about him in one crucial area: Kurama hadn't cared enough for humans to stop Gouki and Hiei after they acquired the treasures. Although he now wished to remain in Human World for his mother's sake, did that goodwill extend past his family and to humans at large? Was he different now, or would he still not care about the collateral damage of his actions in Human World? How far along in his character development was Kurama—and how far along was Hiei, for that matter? It's not like there was an easy way to tell. They didn't have Friendship Gauges like the boys in otome games and dating simulators.
A gauge like that would certainly make dealing with both of them easier on me, that was for sure…
I shook my head, banishing the image of Kurama and Hiei dressed in tuxes, little meters below them showing affection for some nameless otome protagonist. Now was not the time for mental fanart, Keiko. Get your shit together.
"I know we haven't known one another long," Kuroko went on, "but I feel protective toward you. You remind me of myself at your age." She attempted a joke, then. "Plus, my husband has taking a liking to you, you see. I'd never hear the end of it, if you got killed on my watch. He has a critique of your manuscript to deliver, after all!"
She was trying so hard to break through to me, to ease some of the tension between us. Much though we disagreed on the demon issue, and much though she'd gotten under my skin, my feelings for her softened.
"I know you care about me," I said (and I was happy to see Kuroko's shoulders sag with relief). "And…I know we met only recently, like you said, but I hope I've proven myself at least a little trustworthy."
She looked confused. "Hmm?"
"When I tell you Kurama and Hiei aren't like other demons, I hope you can trust my instincts to be good ones." I tried to keep my tone even and earnest. "Those two are capable of change, I swear to you."
Although Kuroko had put doubt in my mind, when I got home, I resolved to read my journals. I resolved to read all the recaps of the anime I'd written and revel in the evidence of Kurama and Hiei's capacity for change. I resolved to read my writing, because it would make me feel better.
I had to feel better. For the sake of the story. For the sake of this world.
I had to.
"I can't vouch for any other demons, but those two…they're not what you think they are." I looked her dead in the eye to say, "And if I can't prove it to you, someday, I believe they'll do the job themselves."
We'd reached the end of the path by then. The cicadas sang around us, a thousand warbling violins heralding the end of summer. A few birds joined the chorus as uninvited soloists. Amidst the din I clearly heard Kuroko speak, dark, liquid eyes brimming with the same tired hopelessness she wore every time I defended my precious demons.
"Maybe they will," she said. "I confess I look forward to the day I'm proven wrong."
For the time being, that had to be enough. I dipped my final bow of the evening, low and long and heartfelt. "Thank you very much for your hospitality, Kuroko. I appreciate all that you do."
"You're welcome, Keiko," she said.
I'd already turned my back on her and walked out the gate, past the sign that warned of vicious dogs, when her voice floated after me—another party-crashing singer raining on the cicadas' parade.
"You know, Keiko," Kuroko said. "I might never be able to change my mind about demons. Not completely."
I stopped walking. She stood with her hand on the "BEWARE OF DOGS" sign, eyes nearly invisible under the shade of the overhead trees—nearly invisible but for the twin glimmers of affection, stars against a deep night sky, staring out at me.
"Perhaps this dog has gotten too old to learn new tricks," Kuroko said, "but I do hope I'm wrong, for your sake."
"I hope you're wrong, too," I said. For all our sakes, but I didn't say that aloud. Instead I lifted a hand in farewell and called, "Tell Shizuru to call me when she wakes up?"
"Of course," said Sanada Kuroko. "Night, Keiko."
"Night, Kuroko."
I walked away into the oncoming twilight, and she did not call after me again.
That evening at the bus stop, a frail old woman passed me, a member of the village below Kuroko's secluded home. When I told her that yes, I'd come from the eerie mountain above the village, she took my hands in hers and prayed. It was an old prayer, as ancient as the mountains themselves, and it warded against all demons—literal and physical—that haunted human hearts.
She had no way of knowing how well that prayer suited me, and that the demons in the mountains paled in comparison to those waiting for me at home.
Ayame flipped the folder of papers shut before tapping it with the back of her hand. "Your reports are getting...how does one put this? Spartan?"
"Sorry," I grunted. "Busy summer."
"A level of activity not reflected in your reports," came her silky-smooth counter attack. "Reading this, once can only assume you spend most of your time watching paint dry."
I tried not to roll my eyes, standing with feet shoulder-width apart, hands clasped tightly in front of my stomach. The clearing we'd made our weekly meeting spot had grown lush over the summer, grass rising high around my knees. Somehow Ayame in her perfectly draped kimono never had trouble walking through the undergrowth. Not a hair out of place even after fording through the brush. Me, I wore long pants and tennis shoes every time we met, and I had to spend an hour picking sticker-burs off my shoelaces after each report. Maybe Ayame was a ghost from the waist down or something. That would explain how soundlessly and easily she moved, for sure…
"What can I say?" I said, trying to look reticent (and probably failing hardcore). "With Yusuke away, not much is going on."
"I can see that," she said, with an accusatory look at the slim folder in her hands. "Your reports during the school year were twice as long as this. And these are so bare. Not at all like your previous descriptive efforts."
I suppressed a smirk, fighting off the urge with a renewal of my polite mask. Ayame wouldn't be saying that if she knew about the extensive, exhaustive journals I kept in my room at home, where I logged every last scrap of my life with the boys…not to mention my snarky remarks about Ayame herself, plus my theories on Hiruko. Ayame only got a watered-down version of said journals (like the one in which I'm writing this reflection on the matter) in my weekly reports. She didn't need the whole truth, and frankly, I didn't think Spirit world deserved it.
These journals were—and are, I guess—for me, and me alone. She didn't need to know about them, that was for sure.
"I'll attempt to make my reports more detailed in future," I said.
Her bland smile was about as interesting as watching paint dry; she had some nerve, criticizing my writing skills when she always looked like that. "Spirit World appreciates the effort. However, you start school next week, correct?"
"Yes."
"One hopes you will have the time to make good on such a promise, given the burden of your schoolwork." A subtle way of expressing doubt, all silky and polite and definitely not as nice as she sounded. My Texan grandmother could've given her a run for her passive-aggressive, double-speak money, though. Bless your heart, Ayame…
"I'm sure I will have the time even after school starts," I assured her. "Maybe the productivity of homework will infect other aspects of my life."
"One can only hope." So dry; seriously, I preferred paint drying to talking with Ayame, even when her eyes did glitter with that clever streak she liked to pretend she didn't possess. "Any word from Yusuke regarding his return?"
"He can't call me," I informed her. "It's in the report."
"Ah. Yes." It had been in every report this summer, though she still asked every fucking time she laid eyes on me—like maybe she suspected I was lying. I dunno. "Do inform me when you next hear from him. He is difficult to monitor at Genkai's compound." And a flicker of real annoyance managed to break through her milky demeanor. "She's rather the paranoid sort, I'm afraid."
"Yeah. I can imagine." Genkai likely warded her place better than Fort Knox against Spirit World spies. The thought of Koenma banging his head against the wall, unable to sneak a peek, almost got me to smirk. "She dislikes interference from outsiders."
"Indeed," Ayame replied with a bow. "And I suppose with that, I will bid you farewell, Keiko."
I bowed back and murmured a goodbye—but before she could swim out of sight and into the trees, I said, "Oh, Ayame?"
She paused, one cool eye regarding me over her black-clad shoulder.
"Before you go, tell me—have you heard from Botan?"
It was like watching storm shutters closing, her eyes went so cold and her mouth went so thin. Ayame recovered well enough, pasting on a sympathetic expression, but I caught the flash of chill in her features like I'd been gusted by an arctic wind.
"She is convalescing," Ayame said, tone betraying no emotion whatsoever. "She will be better in short order, I'm certain."
"Forgive me for being blunt, but so you've said every week for the last month, and she has yet to return." I didn't bother hiding my annoyance the way Ayame hid her emotions. "No messages from her? No letters? No scolding Yusuke for…being Yusuke?"
Ayame shook her head. "Not that I am aware. However, I will be sure to ask the next time I see her." And with that she turned her back on me, very clearly done for the day. "Goodbye. I shall see you next week—with a more robust report in your hand, I hope."
"Yeah," I said as she vanished between the trees. "Sure thing, lady."
After trudging through the woods and picking the sticker-burs out of my shoelaces (damn Ayame and her perfect kimono and her ghost-feet), I headed for home. It was just midday, the whole of my Saturday ahead of me, but even with just a week left of my summer break, I felt little more than a sense of uneasy anxiety clawing gently inside my chest—like a ferret scrabbling at my esophagus, sort of, persistent and annoying more than anything truly dire. It was tough to enjoy my break when my mind kept drifting to the future and the perils that would surely accompany it. True to my promise to myself, I'd come home from Kuroko's place and re-read all my Yu Yu Hakusho notes—but while they'd given me comfort regarding Kurama's emotional turnabout, they'd triggered other worries I just couldn't shake.
Yusuke and Kuwabara were due back soon. Soon after (perhaps a matter of days after) the Saint Beast arc would begin. Keiko didn't have an easy time of things during that arc, and without Botan around, she'd be facing the lackeys of Suzaku all by herself—or all by myself, rather. There I went disassociating again…
I hadn't just asked after Botan because I was worried for her, is Point The First. I asked after Botan because I was scared to face the future without her help. Having an ally during the attack would certainly give me peace of mind, even if I'd taken several precautions over the summer to ensure my safety.
Point The Second was that shit was getting perilously close to hitting the fan, and I still wasn't certain if I was ready for it. Were Hiei and Kurama ready to aid Yusuke? And was Botan ever coming back? And when the heck were Yusuke and Kuwabara going to show up, anyhow?
…but, I realized as I kicked a rock down the sidewalk, that was just about everything bothering me. And that was a pretty short list, so long as you didn't count the looming Hiruko bullshit. The little asshole hadn't contacted me in ages, after all, so even with my anxiety, it was sometimes hard to feel he posed any urgent threat.
(Though some nights I'd see his face in my dreams, brief flashes of pink hair and sea-blue eyes and a smile like a lightning strike, and I'd wake in a cold sweat and skip a meal or two. But that didn't happen often, and the summer went on and on like a movie made of gold.)
All in all, the summer had been good to me. I often went days without seeing anyone from Yu Yu Hakusho (aside from my reflection in the mirror). Between cram school and days spent reading books in my cozy bed, life almost seemed…normal. Like I lived a typical teenage life, even if Hiei did pop in to take baths sometimes, and even if I did get lunch with a fox demon every week. Despite my worries and overthinking, with summer had come a sense of serenity I hadn't experiences in…well, it felt like ages, to be honest. Now that summer was coming to a close, I felt more centered. The conversation with Kuroko stirred up some doubts, of course, as had the meeting with Ayame, but…
It had been a great summer.
It had been a wonderful, lazy, relaxing summer, and my mental health felt all the better for it.
That's probably why, when a familiar voice called my name, I didn't freak out. I didn't scream, or bolt, or panic. I merely turned in the direction of that familiar sound and, eyes like metal drawn to a magnet, looked straight through the Saturday crowd on that bustling city sidewalk and into his gleaming eyes.
Right into their gleaming eyes, one set and then the other in turn.
We said nothing for a moment, the three of us. But then Yusuke started grinning, and Kuwabara followed suit, and then I was grinning, too, and we were all staring at each other and smiling like crazy people who'd somehow escape the looney bin and were trying to start a boyband.
"Hi," said Yusuke.
"How's it goin'?" added Kuwabara.
They stood twenty feet down the sidewalk, side by weary side, covered in scrapes and bruises and dirt and who knows what else. Passersby stared at the banged-up boys without regard for subtlety, just as fascinated by the bandages on their cheeks and the blood on their clothes as I was—but I was the only one smiling, the only one whose eyes had started to well at the sight of them, at the gorgeous fucking sight of their numbskulls faces.
It felt like a giant had wrapped its hand around my heart and squeezed—but in a good way, like my soul had become too big for my skin, overflowing with the love and affection bubbling from somewhere deep inside until it flooded every nook and cranny with thrilling, electric light.
The boys are back in town, I sang inside my head, but no words came out aside from their names. "Yusuke," I said, eyes travelling between them. "Yusuke. Kuwabara."
"Long time, no see," Kuwabara said. His hair had gotten long, curls nearly falling into his dark eyes—but his eager, goofy grin hadn't changed a bit, even though he had a nasty split lip. "Did you miss us?"
"Maybe she did," Yusuke said out of the corner of his mouth, "but why's she staring like that?" His hip jutted out, cocky as all hell. "Forget what we look like or something, grandma? Didja go senile? It hasn't been that long!"
Error. Keiko-dot-exe has ceased to function. Snappycomeback-dot-exe has likewise become unavailable, and cuttingretort-dot-exe is nowhere to be found. The only option available in my stunned programing was bigalbatrosshug-dot-exe, which my CPU performed with gusto. I darted through the crowd of staring onlookers and launched myself straight at them, throwing an arm around each of their necks. Yusuke whined in protest as I pulled him to me, but Kuwabara put an arm around me, too, and mumbled something about how good it felt to be home when I buried my face into his shoulder. They stank the way teenage boys stink when they play outside too much and don't give a crap about basic hygiene, but even though my eyes watered, I didn't even make fun of them, because it didn't matter.
"You're back," I said, because that was what mattered. "You're back. I'm so glad you're back!"
"See, Kuwabara?" Yusuke gloated. "I told ya she'd get mushy."
"Yeah, yeah, you win," Kuwabara said. I felt his face press against my hair when he said, "We missed you too, Keiko," and I hugged him all the harder.
"Aw, now you're getting mushy, Kuwabara?" Yusuke whined. "I don't have the strength for both of you to get all weepy!"
"Neither of us has the strength for anything," Kuwabara shot back—and then a tremor went through him, and a tremor went through Yusuke, and somebody's knees buckled and our three-headed Cerberus of friendship magic staggered, boys falling forward, their weight on me instead of mine on them. I shrieked as my own knees bowed.
Yusuke's devious chuckle sounded in my ear, and I knew exactly what was about to happen.
"Good point," Yusuke said—and he let his weight go completely.
Kuwabara followed suit, of course, and the next thing I knew, both of them had collapsed on top of me right there on the sidewalk. I shrieked and gibbered under the onslaught of boneless, smelly teenage boy, berating them for embarrassing me in public like this, but then Yusuke started laughing, and Kuwabara started after him, and I was helpless to resist the tide of humor. We lay there in a gigantic heap of guffaws and giggles, gloriously uncaring of the looks we garnered from the innocent bystanders, living wildly in the moment without a thought to the future ahead.
There would be a journal entry about this later, I promised myself.
I'd go home and write it all down. Every last scrap of information, every last emotion, every last detail. I'd describe what it felt like to see them, touch them, be near them (and even smell them), etch all of it on paper and into memory as indelibly as words carved in stone. I'd crystallize the moment for eternity, take it out and treasure it when times got tough and the world seemed bleak—because the moment was just that perfect and good, a golden bookend to a golden summer, a shining memory I vowed to never let go.
My boys were back.
My boys were back.
Lying there under their reeking weight, laughing as tears rolled unchecked down my cheeks, the future didn't seem so scary after all.
NOTES
I then imagine Keiko had to literally carry both of them home on her back, people openly staring at them, because they weren't just playing a joke when they collapsed: they were both nearly dead with exhaustion from Genkai's training and literally couldn't walk anymore. What an image! Have had that in my head since the story started.
Next chapter will be posted on the first birthday of this fic, this Saturday, the 23rd. Double update this week is my holiday gift to you, meager though it may be. Love and hugs!
In my head, this has always been a literal copy of the journals (some of them, anyway) Not-Quite-Keiko keeps during her time in the YYH world. There's a bit of a plotty reason for this waaaay in the future; excited to get there, someday.
Not sure if most liked the previous chapter, but that made the reviews LC got last Saturday super precious. PRECIOUS, says I! Each comment absolutely made my day. This fic wouldn't exist without you gorgeous creatures. Biggest, most grateful thanks to these lovely folks: Skylar1023, Counting Sinful Stars, xenocanaan, Yakiitori, tatewaki2000, Im Not Itachi, sousie, Marian, DiCuore Allisa, Jamesies, shen0, Just 2 Dream of You, Kaiya Azure, Bergholt Stuttley Johnson, Vyxen Hexgrim, MissIdeophobia, reebajee, Lady Rini, Star Crystals, Dreaming Traveler, wennifer-lynn, Viviene001, Lady Ellesmere, giant salamander, general zargon, RedPanda923, and a guest!
