Warnings: None
Lucky Child
Chapter 109
"A World Full of Zombies"
Like a childhood companion long forgotten in time and faded memory, the aikido dojo greeted me like an old friend—familiar yet alien, a place I hadn't seen in a hundred years but had changed not a bit in the time I'd spent away. I froze when I walked through the door, stunned by the scents of sweat and plastic sparring mats, oiled blades and sawdust, determination and desperation and triumph blending in a heady swirl. The warehouse's dim lights swung from chains high above, groaning faintly as air drifted from the pair of young men tussling in the dojo's center ring. From the sounds of their struggle to the weapons cache in the corner to the group of students cheering the fights on, it was like stepping back into a dream you'd forgotten upon waking, and the shock of it stopped in my tracks.
Even though no one was looking at me, I felt as exposed and out of place as a nail awaiting the strike of some impartial, heavy hammer.
The sight of Kagome—the back of her head, specifically—brought some comfort, cold though it was. She stood off to one side of the fighting arena, her back to me, hands flying as she told an animated story to a group of our sensei's other students. Her voice rang exuberant and loud through the cavernous warehouse dojo; it was oddly heartening to hear her voice, I just stood there, watching her and counting the dojo's other familiar faces. Many students I had seen before. Others I had not. Still other old friends had not appeared, Ezakiya conspicuously missing. But I barely had a chance to wonder where he was and if he'd quit his lessons when a dry voice creaked through the air beside my elbow.
"Yukimura," Hideki-sensei said, emerging as though manifested by shadow itself. He looked me over as I calmed myself, grey hair falling into his observant black eyes. Once he'd ascertained I had arrived on two feet instead of inside a body bag, he observed, "I see you survived."
"Nice to see you too, sensei."
"No obvious scars," he dryly intoned. "All limbs intact."
"And only slight mental scarring," I assured him.
He harrumphed, ghost of a smile curling his lips. "About the norm for a Dark Tournament winner. Welcome back."
"Thanks, sensei. I—"
He ignored. "Don't expect me to go easy on you just because you lived through a difficult ordeal, by the way," he said, almost with a glare. "And at some point, I'll want details. Few witness those fights and live to tell about it."
"Naturally." This was about the warm fuzzy welcome I'd expected, and something oddly comforting lay in Hideki's gruff treatment. "So what's on the training menu tonigh—?"
"Oh my god, Keiko!"
She'd spotted me at last, and true to form, Kagome sprinted away from the knot of other students and threw her arms tightly around my waist, babbling about being happy to see me and needing to go get fro-yo so we could have a nice gab-sesh, stat. People stared, openmouthed, until I gave a nervous giggle and fought my way out of Kagome's grip (girl had arms like an octopus). She barely even noticed when I dragged her over to the wooden cubbies and coat hooks beside the door, just as she didn't seem to notice the many pairs of eyes watching our every move.
I said before that I felt like I stuck out like a sore thumb, but that moment had nothing on this one.
Luckily the boring sight of me taking off my shoes and putting away my backpack convinced people to stop staring sooner rather than later. One by one their eyes drifted away, and when Kagome and I finally lost our audience, I breathed a heavy sigh of relief.
"Girl, can we talk about you've been totally evasive since you got back?" Kagome was saying, hands on her hips and oblivious to my discomfort. "Can't believe it took two entire days for me to see you!"
"Yeah, well." I shrugged. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder and whatnot."
She rolled her eyes before socking my arm with a playful punch. "So spill! How'd the rest of the tournament go? Like, clearly you won, which was expected because it's not like you'd accept anything less, but—"
I shook my head with a wince. "Not here."
Kagome pouted. "But Eeyore…"
"We should probably have Minato here if we're gonna play catch-up."
"… fine." Even through her excitement, Kagome saw the logic in that excuse of mine—because it was an excuse, little did she know it. Kagome leveled an accusatory finger at me and declared, "But you owe me details and fro-yo, missy."
I told her she'd get both, though I couldn't promise in what order, and before she could protest or pry for a preview, Hideki-sensei called everyone over to do warmups in preparation for our lesson. Saved by the sensei, thank my lucky stars…
Falling into the rhythm of training didn't take long; muscles have long memories. We stretched and ran and exercised sting into our limbs, the bite of lactic acid like comfort nipping at my heels. Kagome stayed by my side, of course, little legs working double-time to keep up. She shot me excited looks at every opportunity. She knew that as soon as our training ended, we'd head to Minato's and dive into the source of her curiosity headfirst… but I met her excitement with trepidation, try as I might to not look like I was marching to my own funeral. It was bound to be a painful conversation, but still a part of me felt eager to get it over with. At least I'd be in the presence of friends who truly got me, right? They'd get it, the way no one else did. Whatever growing pains we went through together, that shared destiny of ours was bound to mend all woes.
But still. I sort of dreaded what they'd have to say about my actions during the final round. I knew I hadn't handled the chaos perfectly, and Minato and Kagome—especially Minato—likely wouldn't let that go unremarked upon.
It was like facing a teacher after you failed a test, I guess.
Or maybe I was overthinking things, as usual.
My emotions felt mixed when the class seemed both to take forever and pass in just a few minutes, our sparring and conditioning ending far too quickly for my reluctant tastes. I couldn't keep from dragging my feet when the lesson ended, trudging after Kagome to grab our bags and put on our shoes. Kagome got ready far quicker than I did, standing by the door and dancing from foot to foot as I slowly gathered me things. I shot her a smile as I bent to put on my shoes, but I straightened up again like a shot when someone spoke low into my ear.
"Hey, Yukimura," he said—and when I spun around with a yelp, I found Ezakiya standing behind me, large hand passing slow over his severe crewcut.
"Ezakiya!" I said. "When'd you get here?"
His hand disappeared into his pocket. "Right around when you did."
"… oh."
Ezakiya didn't say much else. He just smiled as I looked him over, confused, taking in his rumpled gi and bare feet with a frown plastered across my face. His tanned face ran slick with sweat, and a sweat-stain colored the front of his undershirt; clearly he'd been working out with us, thought how the fuck had I not seen him?
"Weird," I said, uneasy. "Somehow I missed you."
"That is weird," he agreed. He'd always had pleasant features, a boy-next-door face complete with dimples when he smiled. These dimples show up in full force when he said, "Anyway. I was wondering if you and Higurashi might wanna—"
"Sorry, Eza, but she's with me tonight." Kagome manifested at my side and threaded her arm through mine, smiling like a crocodile. "We'll catch up another day, OK, bye, see ya—"
I barely had time to shove my feet into my shoes before she dragged me out of the warehouse dojo and into the night beyond. Ezakiya's glum face was the last thing I saw before the door shut behind us, but Kagome left me no time to reflect on it; she was too intent on pulling me through the rows of warehouses surrounding the dojo, alleys lit by moth-orbited lamps and the glow of the nearby city. Eventually she pulled me into an alley between two dilapidated buildings and toward a door in one of their walls. I was pretty sure the building—which bore gaping holes in both its roof and walls—was condemned, or about to be labelled as such, and I started to point out that this was not a great location for Kagome's requested gab-session when she shoved a hand into her pocket. From it she pulled a small fistful of glittering objects, and for a second I wasn't sure what the heck they were.
But that was before she bent and placed one of the objects—a tiny moon forged of glimmering gold—against the bottom corner of the door's wooden frame. She couldn't reach the top corners, though, and soon had to ask me for my help.
"Since when has Minato trusted you with his little portal doodads?" I grunted as she clambered onto my neck.
"Since he got tired of having to come get me whenever I wanted to come over," she said, reaching upward to smack moons against wood. "Apparently I'm demanding. Now put me down!"
I obeyed, and when Kagome pulled the door open by its rusted knob, we did not see the interior of the dilapidated warehouse. Instead we looked upon the faintly lit arcade floor of the Game Crown Center in Tokyo. The starchy scent of vacuumed carpet wafted out the door, dry on the tongue and nostalgic for playlands past. A few still-active games beeped and buzzed, casting pinpricks of neon light across our faces; they turned Kagome's red overalls pink in tiny bursts and set blue stars into the depths of her eyes. As we stepped through the portal, the damp spring air changed abruptly to the cool, dry air of the air-conditioned arcade, making my skin itch at the sudden change in temperature and humidity—but before I could comment on this change, Minato's voice cut through the quiet.
"Kagome." He appeared in a ripple of shadow from around the corner of a racing game, blue eyes black in the dark. "I thought I told you to at least call before you—ah." He lifted a hand in greeting, expression relaxing somewhat. "Hello, Captain."
"Minato. It's good to see you." I quirked an eyebrow and forced a smile. "Have time to play catch-up?"
Minato smiled.
"Always," Minato said.
Without another word, we followed him to the Sailor V game in the center of the arcade floor and into the secret lair concealed beneath its glittering façade.
Silence rang like a hammered gong when I finished speaking. Then, slowly, Kagome wet her lips with a sharp flick of her tongue. Minato passed a hand over his buzz-cut hair, blond strands dyed pale violet in the light of the eddying galactic map embossed across the lair's domed ceiling. The stars moved slowly, their progress nearly indiscernible to the naked eye, infinitesimally slow and unnervingly steady. I watched these stars as Minato and Kagome continued to process what I'd told them, distracting myself from the telltale horror in their expression with the overhead dance of nebula and stardust. We sat on the half circle of couches that ringed the gigantic computer terminal in the center of the high-ceilinged room, the device's many panels and knobs and buttons glimmering with iridescent light, faint beeping and whirring undercutting the heavy silence that had fallen over our little band of displaced souls.
I'd been here before, but like so much else, I did not feel at home beneath the whirling stars.
"That's…" Minato began.
"A lot!" Kagome finished.
And that was true. All the changes in canon, my handling of them, everything Hiruko and Cleo had revealed, the reactions of my canon friends… it was just so damn much to take in, wasn't it? So I sat back and let them mull it over, because what else could I do?
Lucky me, though: They had the courtesy to read the stress on my face and not nitpick my actions too much. What was done was done, after all. But the looks on their faces when I told them what Hiruko had whispered in my ear as the stadium came down, and then everything Koenma had revealed about the Makers…
"Koenma said he'd do some research, try and see what Hiruko might be planning if we can dredge up any details about the Makers," I said, hoping to comfort them a little in the face of so much unknown. "But I have no idea when he'll find anything worthwhile, or even if he'll find anything worthwhile." Spreading my hands helplessly, I said, "So right now, all we can really do is wait."
"And you hate waiting, as you've so famously told us before," said Minato as he massaged his temples.
"Exactly." Very to the point, as always. Slapping my hands against my thighs, I said, "Well. You're all caught up now. So…" A pause, but neither Kagome nor Minato met my gaze. "Where should we even start?"
"Perhaps we should begin with Hiruko's gifts," Minato suggested after a minute pause. "Namely tattoos."
"Don't forget the iPod!" Kagome added. "And the eyes!"
"Bad things come in threes." A shiver skated up my spine; I pressed on. "Minato, you said on the phone while I was at the tournament that you had a theory about the iPod, but that was before the eyes and the tattoos. Care to share?"
"The theory remains the same, and it isn't a particularly groundbreaking leap of logic." He sat with perfect posture, shoulders back and head held high, but something in his bearing firmed as I watched him—firmed into steely resolve, a soldier facing down the enemy. Minato said, "In the theater of war, undermining the enemy's resolve can turn the tide toward victory."
"Resolve?" Kagome asked.
"The captain has been dedicated to playing her role as Keiko for quite some time, even at the expense of her own feelings and identity. The iPod constitutes a reminder of her past—a seductive reminder." His bright blue gaze grew distant, as if peering into the ether between worlds. "Music appeals to the most emotional parts of our minds, our souls."
"Awfully poetic of you, Minato," I muttered.
He ignored me. "How could the captain not feel more connected to her past life after listening to the music of her former existence?" he continued without pause. "And the more tightly she becomes ensnared in the feeling, the mood, the ambiance of her past self, the less likely she'll be to react to events as Keiko, which will result in her changing canon."
Silence invaded like a hostile force. Blood thudded in my ears, my lips. I tried to ignore it, but it wasn't easy. Every word a battle, I forced myself to say, "So you're saying that by giving me reminders of my past, I'm more likely to act like Tex than Keiko, and canon will suffer for it."
He frowned. "Tex?"
"Yusuke's new nickname for me. Not my favorite, but…"
"But you're correct," Minato said when I trailed off. "The iPod is a point of subconscious manipulation on Hiruko's part… and it appears to have worked, judging from your own account of choices made not as Keiko, but as your core self." He laughed, a sharp exhale through the nose. "I'd be impressed by Hiruko's tactical prowess if his work wasn't quite so insidious."
"Do you think the tattoos and eyes are part of that manipulation, too?" Kagome asked.
"The tattoos, yes. The eyes… are you sure Hiruko is behind them, Keiko?"
"Not sure what other explanation there is," I said, shrugging.
"Occam's Razor, I suppose," Minato mused—but to my surprise, he didn't appear convinced. Not totally, anyway. "But I will reserve judgment until proof is proffered. And besides…" His eyes narrowed, slivers of flame-hearted indigo against blond lashes. "That isn't the only suspicion I harbor about the nature of your experiences on Hanging Neck Island that currently lacks definitive supporting data."
I shifted in my seat, uneasily sliding my hands up and down my thighs—over my tattoos, I realized, and I snatched my hands away. "What do you mean?" I asked as I tucked them under my arms. "What other suspicions?"
But Minato shook his head. "I don't want to bias you, nor contribute to a self-fulfilling prophecy. But please keep in informed of your activities as time passes. If my hunch is correct, we'll know quite soon if what I suspect is true."
"You been talking to Cleo or something?" I said.
"Hm?"
"You're being very cryptic. Don't start calling me 'my child' every two seconds or I'll think you're colluding with the Fates or something."
But Minato didn't laugh at my joke. He merely rose from his seat and walked to the computer, sitting at the lone swiveling chair at the center of the large console. Screens flickered to life in the air above the console, panels of projected pastel light replete with charts and graphs and figures—all labeled in German. My German was coming along fine, but most of the words I did not recognize. I thought that maybe he was pulling something up to show us, but when he neither turned around nor spoke, Kagome and I exchanged a Look.
Minato, the Man of Mystery, we silently said. Neither of us could read him on the best of days, and I got the sense that just then, he did not want to be read.
Still, though. Burning with curiosity though we were, we didn't push him or pry, both our mouths kept tightly shut. Minato was a man of his word. He meant what he said, to borrow a certain motto of mine. I trusted Minato to do as he said and to clue me in when the time was right, revealing the nature of his super mysterious suspicions exactly when it became appropriate.
And besides. I was enough of a scientist to know the value of a blind study.
"Well, anyway." Pulling my bag onto my lap, I reached inside and drew the iPod into view—earning a delighted gasp from Kagome in the process. "About the iPod. What do you two think I should do with it?"
Minato didn't turn around, nor did he stop typing. "My first instinct is to throw it away, or lock it out of sight and away from temptation," he said, eyes locked on the flickering graphs and charts projected above him, "but I get the sense you'll resist that advice."
"Damn straight! Who would give up Beyoncé willingly?" Kagome said with a giggle, and then she turned her large, watery eyes my way. "Not to make this totally awkward, but, like… can I please listen to some more Beyoncé before we make a decision about the iPod?"
Curse her puppy-dog eye. I handed it over without a fight. "Be my guest."
"Oh, thank god," she muttered, and she took the iPod from me with something close to reverence. Her eyes grew larger and larger as she scrolled through the music selection, and I half suspected she might start crying when her face screwed up in confusion. She turned that frown my way to say, "Hey, I thought you said you didn't have 'Check On It' on here."
"I don't."
"I mean… then what's this?"
She'd hit play and started blasting a song at top volume, and despite the tiny headphone speakers, I could hear the song quite well: 'Check On It' by Beyoncé, unmistakable bass line thudding against Kagome's hand with a rattle and a buzz. I stared at her as she started to dance, body moving but face frozen in an expression of confused accusation. Me, keep her favorite song from her? Heaven forbid.
"Oh. Uh." I scratched the back of my neck, uncomfortable. "Must've not seen it the first time I looked, I guess."
"Well, whatever." She bounced back fast, popping to her feet so she could dance. "I can't keep still when I listen to this. Dance break time!"
It's tough to say no to Kagome, especially when she's got that enormous, gleaming grin on her face. She grabbed my hand and pulled me up to dance with her, and soon she did the same thing to Minato, who suffered the indignity of situation with surprising patience. By the time Kagome deemed the dance break over, I half suspected he might be a secret Beyoncé fan. Would explain why he gently (but firmly) pried the iPod away from her as she sat back down beside me.
"I get why you wouldn't want to give that up," she said as she stared longingly at the iPod. As Minato walked away and inserted the device into a slot in the massive computer terminal for analysis, Kagome heaved a sigh. "Hearing that after so long… it's hard to imagine giving that up once you get it, y'know?"
"That's probably all the more reason why I need to be careful with it," I said. "One song a day or something. Right, Minato?"
He was looking at the screens again. "That would be my prescription, yes."
"One dose of musical medicine a day, eh Doc?"
"If you want to think of it that way, then yes," he said, fingers flying across his keyboard. "Though I thought my nickname was 'Rabbit,' not 'Doc.' Isn't he one of the Disney dwarves?"
Kagome giggled, but she said nothing. Neither did I, and neither did Minato. In silence we sat once more, until the slot on the computer spat the iPod back out into Minato's awaiting hands.
"There is nothing unusual about its construction," he said as he handed it over to me—and when Kagome grabbed for it, he rolled his eyes. "Using it poses no physical harm, at least."
"Good to know." She jammed the earbuds back in her ears and scrolled through the iPod for a minute. "I need my Beyoncé fix."
Only when she selected another track, Kagome didn't appear too happy. She sank deeper and deeper into her seat on the couch, expression morphing into one of faraway sadness as she scrolled through my collection of music. Soon she chose another song (Rhianna, this time) but she looked little more than glum as it played.
"I don't want to talk about the other thing," she said after a time. "But I think we have to, eventually."
I took a deep breath. "Yeah."
Her dark eyes cut my way, their depths sparked blue from the starlight overhead. "Is it a stupid question, to ask what he meant when he said this isn't real?" she muttered, shuddering in her pale red overalls. "Or…?"
"No. I don't think it's stupid," I said.
Minato's hands stilled upon the computer terminal. He rotated his chair toward us bit by bit, stormy blue eyes full of uncertain clouds. He wore his usual dress pants with a button-up and a tie, and while I knew he was anything but a kid, just then he appeared small—like he matched the age of the body he inhabited, just for an instant, shoulders small under the weight of that silk tie and severe crewcut.
"I don't know where to begin when it comes to parsing out his meaning," he said, words chosen with obvious care. "It's… a layered discussion. And true to form, Hiruko remained as vague and mysterious as ever despite this revelation." He shook his head. "An answer that raises more questions than it resolves…"
Kagome tittered an affirmative reply—but while they looked perplexed, I cracked my knuckles and grinned, especially when they each turned my way with comically twinned what-the-heck-are-you-smoking looks on their faces. Oh, sure, look at the philosophy student like she's the crazy one… but that was a normal reaction, I guessed. Not too many people get as excited about that kind of crap like I do.
"All right, y'all," I said, popping my knuckles and cracking my neck. "Stand back. This is where I come in."
"Uh." Kagome looked me up and down like I'd just declared I wanted to paint myself pink and dance the polka. "You feeling OK there, buddy?"
"Fine and dandy, friends," I brightly replied. "Because I'm a former philosopher, and I've been waiting my whole life for something like this. Basically, what we're talking about here is solipsism distilled, and—"
Kagome's hand shot up. "Question!"
"Yes, Tigger?"
"What's solipsism?"
"Very glad you asked," I said. Raising one finger into the air, I proclaimed, "Solipsism is 'I think, therefore I am.'"
One blond eyebrow lifted high across Minato's forehead. "I've heard that before, but…"
"Solipsism is the theory that the self is the only thing we can be reliably sure to exist," I said, excited in spite of myself to discuss one of my favorite philosophical arguments. "Like, I think and I feel, so I know I exist—but for all I know, everything else that I observe might actually be an illusion created by my mind."
Kagome frowned. "Oh, OK. That makes sense." Her frown deepened. "But wait. I think, therefore I am. And so do you, and so does Minato, so—"
"Are you sure that Minato and I can think?" I asked her (hell yeah, let's use the Socratic method, baby). "What if we're part of the illusion your brain created? You aren't aware of our consciousness, after all. You can only reliably know that yours is real."
"… Oh." A beat passed. Recognition sparked as suddenly as striking lightning, and Kagome's face contorted into a mask of horror. "Oh. Oh! That's awful! You're saying nobody exists but me!"
"Well, in my case, only I exist," I said. "From my perspective, you're one of the illusions crafted by my consciousness."
"I. Am. Not. An. Illusion," Kagome said, each word as piercing as a sharpened blade. Her ire cooled a bit as horror (probably of the existential variety, given the subject matter) took hold of her again, eyes wide with unwilling understanding. "That's so… that's so lonely, though," she said, as if pleading with me to contradict her. "Because it's basically saying I'm totally alone in the universe, and that I don't even realize it."
"Right," I said—gently. Because I didn't much like the raw edge in Kagome's voice, nor the way her hands had fisted in the fabric of her overalls. "There are several variations of solipsism, of course, with varying degrees of metaphysical isolation and nuances of proposed existence, but… when Hiruko said that nothing here is real, it was hard not to think of solipsism."
Minato's eyes widened just a tad, but he smoothed his face into a neutral mask almost immediately afterward—so fast, I almost wondered if I'd been imagining it.
Almost.
"The problem of other minds has been a point of discussion in philosophy for centuries," I continued. "If we want to get deep in the philosophy weeds, we could talk about the brain-in-a-vat thought exercise, mind-body dualism, 'What is it Like to be a Bat?', how this entire scenario is basically the definition of Descartes' worst nightmare…" I giggled, unable to help it. "I did apparently call Hiruko a 'motherfucking Cartesian ego-centrist' back when I first heard his plans, after all…"
"I didn't follow a word of that," Minato dryly said, "but I'm glad you seem to be having fun."
"Sorry. I'm quality philosophy nerd-session. Stop me if I try to define 'qualia' for you." When nobody laughed, I muttered, "That joke would've killed at a philosophy conference."
"Wait, what did you say about brains in vats?" Kagome asked, voice pitching high with worry. "Like, in The Matrix?" She glanced at Minato and back at me again. "There were people with brain in vats in those movies, right?"
"That's actually exactly what I'm talking about when I talk about solipsism and brains in vats," I said (and at this revelation, Kagome looked appropriately disturbed). "Much like everything the stuck-in-a-vat-people in The Matrix saw was a fictional world created by robots to keep the people sleeping and complacent, what if this world isn't real, either?"
Now even Minato looked horrified, not bothering to hide the agitated twitch in his jaw or the reluctant recognition in his eyes.
"My point is that when Hiruko said none of this is real," I continued, "I had to wonder how far that statement really, truly extends. I can only assume he thinks that he's real, and that he thinks I'm real, but what else? Who else? What fits into his definition of real, what is objectively real, and what falls under the umbrella of a subjective conscious experience?" No one said anything, so I looked at Kagome and Minato and voiced a plaintive, "Y'know?"
Minato cleared his throat. "To cut through what I can only assume is exhaustive academic over-complication—"
"Guilty."
"—you're asking what's real and what's not, and how we can differentiate and define the concept of 'real' to begin with," he said. "Am I correct?"
"Yes. Very. And good on you, making sure we define our terms before we really get started. That's a key part of having a coherent philosophical discussion, and—"
"Captain." Minato sounded tired. "Captain, please."
"Sorry." I took a deep breath and tried to banish my nerdy enthusiasm—an easy feat once I remembered the gravity of the situation. In much more somber tones, I said, "I'm asking what Real-with-a-capital-R things have in common with Hiruko, and what the nature of Unreal things must be in comparison." My fists clenched, trembling balls of glass-fragile tension at my sides. "Because for all the books I've read, there's only one definition that could fit the Unreal people around us, and… and I hate it."
Minato's chin inclined, eyes narrowing. "Hate?"
But Kagome focused on something else: "Us?" she asked. "What do you mean, us?"
Minato's chin lowered again. "I think I know," he muttered, eyes locked on mine.
I gestured for him to take the floor. "Please."
He gave me a sharp nod in return. "Based on the captain's use of that collective pronoun, I can only assume she believes that you and I are Real, Kagome. And that she is Real, and that Hiruko is Real. Correct?"
"Yup," I said. "And Cleo, if I had to guess. She knows too much and appears to be outside Hiruko's control, so… it's hard to imagine she's not Real, too."
"And if I had to guess who you think is not Real…" said Minato.
We traded a long, silent look.
In his eyes flared recognition.
"Yeah," I said. "Yeah. That's right."
Kagome glanced between us, to Minato and me and then back again. "Is it… everyone else?" she guessed, recognition flaring in her eyes, too.
"Yeah," I said. "Yeah. That's right."
Her jaw dropped, only to snap closed again. "But why?" she demanded, shaking her head at almost the same time. "Wait, don't answer. I think… is it because we're all from another world?" I hadn't even gotten that far yet, but there she went, sharp as ever and absolutely spot on. Kagome continued, saying: "Apparently we're from the same other world, and if we're Real because we're from that world…" She swallowed, a grimace carving lines around her mouth. "The people around us are all from a story, from a fiction. They're not from a world. Not really. So you think…" Kagome searched my face, desperate. "Do you think they are fictional? Maybe? Does that make them Unreal?"
"This is all predicated upon the idea that Hiruko was telling the truth," I cautioned her—because panic had begun to bubble in her gaze like a spring breaking through hard earth, cold and clear and burgeoning. Desperate to stem desperation's flow, I said, "Keep that big, big caveat in mind as we talk, and keep in mind that he could be lying and that this could all be some type of distraction he's counting on to throw us off track. But…"
Here came the hard part. Steeling myself, I faced Kagome and placed a hand over hers, hoping my touch could comfort her in ways that words could not.
"If we take Hiruko's words at face value, he's implied he created this place, and that us three… we're imports, sort of," I said—putting thoughts I'd long entertained into words for the very first time, but with them came no relief. Only disquiet trembled in my chest as I told my friends, "We're imported souls from another world. We're borrowed, and judging from the memories Hiruko showed me…"
"Which might not be real." Minato winced. "Sorry to use that word. But that could've been a trick."
"Very true," I said. "But supposing all of what he's said is correct and not a lie—a possibility Cleo strongly hinted at—I can't help but wonder if we're Real, but the people around us who came from fiction…"
I trailed off.
"Aren't," Minato supplied.
Silence reigned.
Minato stared.
Kagome didn't move.
"Right," I said, eventually. "What if Hiruko somehow used fiction as the… as the parameters for this world? As a guide?"
Kagome's nose wrinkled. "Like a fanfic author writing a fic and using someone else's world and characters?"
"Yes. Great metaphor." Sticking with her (frankly perfect) metaphor, I said, "But then instead of inventing some OCs to do what he wanted, he basically… he basically invited in some other writers and put their self-inserts into his story, his world, where they could run amok with independent thought and sentience apart from his."
"Hold the fucking phone, Eeyore," said Kagome. "Are you telling me this entire situation is a gigantic online role-play story?"
I fidgeted. "I mean…"
"That's insane," Kagome said with deadpan snark. "That's insane and I refuse to accept it."
"Yeah. It's… not great," I said, shrugging. "You could also use Dungeons & Dragons as a metaphor, like he's the dungeon master and we're players and everyone else is an NPC—"
"That's making it worse!" Kagome half-shrieked—but her words died quickly, chased away as a hand lit on her chin and understanding brightened her dark eyes. Grudgingly she admitted, "But that does explain why this world is so weird in some places. Like he's bad at world-building or something."
"What do you mean?" Minato asked.
"There's not a lot of fiction here, right? Like, stories are missing?" she said. "If he made this world, and this place is all his creation, maybe those stories don't exist because he just… didn't know about them?"
"I mean, that fits into the idea of solipsism, in a sense," I said. "The truth of this world is limited by the perceptions and knowledge of the being who created it, sort of."
"Like a writer who didn't do proper research before writing their book," Minato said. "Or their fanfic, to keep with the metaphor."
"It wouldn't surprise me if all that was true." My fingers fiddled with the hem of my shirt, rolling it into a tight skein. "He didn't seem to recognize my Peter Pan references, after all."
"It would also explain why he needed to ask for your permission before placing you in this world," said Minato. "Perhaps diverting the destination of a soul without its permission is in violation of some cosmic law we are unaware of."
"Another great point I hadn't thought of," I murmured.
No one spoke, then, lapsing into silence on contemplation's tide. We had so many theories, but without confirmation or evidence, they would remain exactly that: theories. But I wasn't totally uncomfortable with that uncertainty. The pursuit of philosophy isn't about conclusions, but rather about asking questions that might not ever be answered.
Basically, I was used to this.
Thanks, undergrad.
But while I was used to this, the others weren't. Minato shifted restlessly in his chair, crossing and uncrossing his legs before placing his feet flat on the floor, hands arranged purposefully atop his knees. "Earlier you said there was a definition you hated to apply to the fictional characters in our lives," he said when the silence stretched too thin. "What is it?"
A grimace pulled my mouth.
"Right. That," I said.
My friends waited in silence for me to speak. I took a long, deep breath.
"If," I said, "we are to accept the theory that this world is a giant illusion crafted by Hiruko, and that everyone but us is a product of a borrowed fiction, and are thus not Real… the beings around us, with whom we live and interact, fit the definition of a philosophical zombie."
"Zombie?" Kagome lurched upright in her seat, alarmed. "First fanfic and now zombies? What the hell did you even study in college, Eeyore?"
"It's a little hard to explain without getting into more academic mumbo-jumbo, but… did you ever see The Good Place?" I asked. "The TV show?"
"Uh. Yeah?" Kagome said. "But why?"
"Remember Janet?"
"Yeah. What about her?"
Minato cleared his throat. "I don't understand this reference."
"Janet was basically a… she was like Siri for the afterlife," Kagome supplied. "You could shout 'Janet!' and she'd appear and get you whatever you wanted while you were in the afterlife."
"But she wasn't sentient. She wasn't even a 'she,' really," I added. When Minato's confusion did not abate, I said, "And that was a big deal. She looked like a human woman, but she wasn't, and whenever anyone treated her with regard for her emotions, she helpfully reminded them that she wasn't real. That she didn't feel. That she was basically a computer. 'Not a girl' was basically her catchphrase. But then if someone tried to kill her…"
Minato blanched. "Why would someone want to kill someone so helpful?"
"Plot reasons," said Kagome, helpfully.
"Basically," I concurred. "What you need to understand is that Janet had a kill-switch, and if you tried to press it, she'd cry. She'd scream. Beg for her life. Show you pictures of a family she didn't have and tell you that you'd be leaving her children motherless if you pressed that button. She'd put on a convincing show of terror befitting a sentient being, but it was an act—an act she readily admitted was not a real show of emotion. She didn't feel any fear or dread; the theatrics were just a way of protecting herself."
Here I took another deep breath.
Because once I said this, there was no going back.
"Janet was basically a philosophical zombie," I said, careful and slow and deliberate. "At first, anyway. To put it simply, a philosophical zombie is a being that seems real. It seems sentient. It playacts the part of a feeling, sentient, consciousness-possessing person perfectly, but it's none of those things. It's a simulacrum, a robot, a zombie, completely indistinguishable from a real person in every way that matters… and yet, it isn't real. It isn't conscious at all. It just puts on a convincing illusion."
No one spoke. I tried to ignore the disquiet in my chest.
I'm not convinced I did a good job, though.
"If solipsism is to be taken seriously," I said, voice quavering the slightest but, "it means that while you are Real and sentient, everyone else whom you perceive is actually just a philosophical zombie—a being who seems Real in every way, but simply put, is not."
There followed the longest moment of silence yet.
And then, with a whisper, Kagome broke it.
"My grandpa?" she whispered with wide and wild eyes. "You mean, he's—?"
I closed my eyes. "Yes."
"My brother?"
"Yes."
"My mom?"
"Yes, Kagome," I said. "All of them."
She didn't say anything.
Then, in the most plaintive, lost, and broken voice I had heard in this or in any life, she told me: "I hate this. I hate it."
"Yeah," I said as my heart broke. "Yeah. Me, too."
She wasn't the only one who had to think of her loved ones in possibility's fresh light. My parents, my friends, Yusuke and Kuwabara and Hiei… and Kurama. That's why it had been so hard to look him in the eye when he reached for my hand, lately. Why it had been easier to reach for Jin, who was destined to fly off into the sunset soon enough, taking my feelings with him and out of sight. The thought that the affection in Kurama's gaze, the affection I had taken comfort in so many times, might not actually be Real… it was off-putting. Hard to handle. Hard to look at and even harder to give in returning, knowing I might be aiming it at someone who could never love me back, feel anything Real for me in return.
I hadn't been able to look at Kurama the same way since Hiruko's revelation.
And I wasn't the only one who had trouble adjusting to the idea of a world full of zombies. Kagome shot out of her seat without warning and began to pace, gnawing at her nails as her eyes roved over the star-covered ceiling, the cool white tiles of the floor, the glowing pastel panels of the massive computer terminal. But she looked without seeing, eyes too distant and too removed for me to hope to follow.
Minato seemed content to let her pace, to let her work out her feelings on her own. Turning to me and away from her frenetic energy, he said, "Do you suppose there is a reason why the world we came from is so special?"
"Special how?"
"Fiction here is limited. In our world, it's abundant. Of course, we can blame Hiruko's lack of knowledge on some missing stories in this reality, but… why do stories run freely in our world in comparison?" Trouble brewed in his eyes' blue depths, a kraken rising from the deep. "If someone made this world, did someone else make ours? And how did they, whoever they are, have a better grasp of story than Hiruko?"
"Maybe this Maker thing made us. Maybe it knows all, sees all."
"For an atheist, you've adjusted to the idea of a Maker quite comfortably."
"Hey, I'm still an atheist!" I laughed, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet, underground bunker. "I have no idea if the Maker is real or not, or if it's actually a god-type-being worth worshipping. Until I get evidence, I'm just rolling with the punches. But anyway." Mirth aside, I told him, "If that Maker thing isn't behind our old world, then maybe… maybe the people our world are to blame."
"Meaning?" he said.
It felt silly to say it, but nevertheless, I persisted. "I was a writer," I told him. "I made stories. The creator of Yu Yu Hakusho lived in our world, apparently, and he also made stories, one of which Hiruko brought to life. And your canons were all made by people in our world, as far as we know. So maybe… maybe something about our world makes it more prone to stories, somehow?" It felt even sillier now that I'd birthed the words into the universe, but it was too late to take them back no matter how skeptical Minato looked at the idea. "If everyone in our old world was Real, perhaps it's… it's some kind of source for fiction, almost. Unreal birthed from the Real. And if fiction isn't Real-with-a-capital-R, then Hiruko could manipulate and use it as he saw fit without repercussions."
His skepticism faded a tad. "Hence why he had to ask for your permission to use your soul, but likely did not have to ask permission to use the fiction from which our identities hail," Minato said.
"Exactly," I said. "And that means—"
"I hate this!"
Minato and I looked at Kagome in unison, finding her standing a few feet away with feet spread beneath her tiny form, hands fisted at her hips, shoulders hunched, head bowed. Black hair obscured her face, nothing but the thin line of her trembling mouth visible beneath her midnight fringe—and then she raised her head, revealing tear-stained cheeks and reddened eyes that bored into my own like the point of a sharpened nail. Stars made her eyes burn cold with distant celestial light. She looked like her sister, then, possessed by grief and confusion and anger so intense, not a trace of hope in her gaze remained.
"My mom, my grandpa, my brother? None of them are Real?" Her hands lashed out at nothing, striking at invisible specters. "That's stupid! It's baloney!"
Minato rose to his feet. "Kagome—"
"They aren't zombies, Eeyore. They just aren't. They can't be." An open palm smacked her chest, settling over her heart like a sorrowful, savage sledgehammer. "If I'm real, then so are they. I refuse to accept the idea that the people I love aren't real. That they don't love me back."
I stood, too. Soothingly I said, "No one is saying that—"
"But that's exactly what we're saying!" Kagome snarled—a sound I had never heard from her before, and one that chilled me to my bones. "We're saying that we're Real, but they aren't, and that the things they feel for us aren't Real, either. It's just an illusion, an act meant to fool us. But that's bullshit!" A curtain of night fluttered around her shoulders like a shield when she shook her head, teeth gnashing, hands still clenched. "I don't believe it. I won't believe it. Because if we're so easily fooled, what does that say about everything else we think is Real, huh?"
"What do you mean?" Minato asked.
"If I'm so easily fooled into thinking my family here is a bunch of zombies, what about my memories of my past life?" Kagome said. "What if those aren't Real, either? What if Hiruko implanted them? We know he fucked with your head, Eeyore, so what about that? What if my husband, my sister, aren't even—" She couldn't bear to finish the statement, shaking her head again with a wordless, wild cry of loneliness and pain. "I can't accept that they might not be Real, too! I can't accept that I can't trust what I'm perceiving!"
"Kagome, I'm so sorry—" I tried to tell her, but she cut me off again.
"I lived my old life," she said, insistent and not backing down. Her eyes held invitation to a challenge, but no one obliged her. "I lived it just like I'm living this one. I loved who I loved then, and I love who I love now, and they all loved me back, and I swear—"
The fire in her died, then. A coal smothered by snow. She sniffed once, twice, three times. Tears welled in her dark eyes, crystal bubbling against deep black.
She looked as fragile as crystal, then.
I worried if I touched her, she'd break.
"They loved me back, Eeyore, Minato," she said—but it sounded like a question, devoid of any certainty. "Zombies don't do that. They don't love you back." The tears overflowed, crystal turning to ribbons of weeping woe. And like fractured crystal, her voice broke when she asked, "How am I just supposed to accept that they aren't Real when they loved me back?"
"Kagome." Minato stepped forward, taking action as I fought for words. For clarity. For something. Resolute and firm, he told her, "Now is not the time to lose our heads. We need to focus, set aside our emotions, and—"
"Minato."
He stopped talking. Turned to me. Traded another of our silent looks, long and lean yet laconic, a wordless war that ended when he cast his eyes aside and slowly shook his head. But he'd backed down, and that was what mattered as I turned to Kagome—to Tigger, my best friend, my first companion—with a smile she did not return.
"Sorry, Kagome," I said, as gently as I could and then even gentler still. "I don't have the answers you're looking for—because you already have them." My smile widened. "You have all the answers you need, I think."
She sniffed, crystal tears still flowing. "What does that mean?" she asked in an emotion-thick groan. "Huh?"
"Love doesn't exist in a vacuum, Kagome. If you gave them love, and you felt that love reflected back at you in return… that's proof enough that they're Real." I kept smiling, even as her lips parted in astonishment. "Nothing else matters, in the end. Love withstands the force of all those petty details."
Kagome burst into tears when I was through. I held her as best as I could. Minato watched in silence, uncomfortable—but he didn't say anything, or tell her not to feel what she felt again.
He didn't ask me if I believed what I'd said, either.
Truth be told, I wasn't sure if I did.
I just hoped Kagome believed enough for both of us.
We sat down on the couch, eventually, where I rubbed Kagome's back in small, soothing circles. Minato joined us after a time, sitting on Kagome's other side. He even patted her hand a few times, looking reluctant but determined to not police her emotions as he'd tried to before. He was trying, at least, to comfort her; it was nice to see, and much appreciated.
But Minato, try though he might, couldn't keep up the touchy-feely shtick for very long; it just wasn't in his nature. "I think we're done for tonight," he said when Kagome's sobs had mostly stopped, and he had the good sense to make the declarative sound tender. "At least on this subject."
Kagome sniffled, but she didn't protest. In fact, she nodded, mopping at her streaming eyes with her sleeve. She didn't say anything, though, so I forced a smile and patted her back.
"Then we're in agreement," I said. "And I gotta admit, I have bigger issues to think about than this one, anyway."
Just one of Minato's eyebrows shot up (an impressively elastic feat). "How so?"
Kagome stared at me, nonplussed. "What could possibly be bigger than this?" she groused. "I mean, seriously?"
I groaned and covered my face with my hands. "The possibility of my parents finding out about my tattoos, that's what!"
Kagome gasped, scandalized. "Oh my god!" she said. "Oh my god, no!"
"Right?" I said, equally scandalized. "That would be the end of the world!"
Kagome agreed, of course, and she launched into a spirited tirade about makeup I could wear to cover them, distraction plans in case they were spotted, and the likelihood of faking an injury for the rest of my high school career to get me out of gym class. Girl gave me a run for my money with her storytelling abilities, that's for sure. Every last one of her plans was more lurid and elaborate than the last, and I listened in fascination at each of her new ideas—ones I was certain she invented to distract herself from the previous conversation, but still.
Minato, however, didn't seem as enthralled. He got up and headed for his computer, sitting and spinning his swivel chair around to face the computer console. I ignored him as he typed and pulled up a few screens; he'd clearly had enough social interaction and drama for one night, and I didn't blame him one bit. Time to give the poor guy space from the theatrics, indeed…
"I've been wearing shorts and stuff, but even with them on, I'm super paranoid," I told Kagome when she stopped talking long enough to draw breath. "It sucks balls. I was really looking forward to taking dance classes, too."
"I'll bet," Kagome said. Poking up the hem of my basketball shorts until she could see the bottom of my octopus piece, she said, "They're pretty, by the way. Love the rainbow colors. But I never much figured you for the tattoos type."
"People in my old life said the same thing," I confessed. "Apparently I seem pretty straight-laced until I take my pants off."
"Pervert!" she said with a maniacal giggle. "That's hilarious!"
"Captain." Minato's chair spun just enough for me to see his face around the side of its high, white back. "Over here, please."
I stood with a frown. "What's up? I—oh, wow."
To my surprise, a panel in the floor beside the computer terminal slid backward with a click and a whir. From the dark depths below rose a pod, a weird coffin-like contraption made all of glass—a pod I'd seen before. Minato had placed Botan in one just like it at one point, keeping watch on her vitals until she woke from her post-Jagan coma. The front of it popped up and slid aside with a rush of compressed air, and when Minato gestured for me to step inside, I did so with heart in my mouth—but nothing much happened after the lid slid shut. A pale blue light washed over me in a cool wave, passing and disappearing in a second, and then the door slid open again. I stepped free of the pod as Minato typed a few things into the computer, thoroughly confused and infinitely curious.
"So. Uh. What's this about?" I said as I watched him type.
He pressed a button, but rather than reply, he just watched as a hidden panel beside his keyboard slid open. A small plastic gachapon capsule rolled into the cavern beneath the panel; this he delivered into my waiting hands without a word or flourish, actions as simple, economical and precise (and mysterious, I can't help but mention) as any I'd ever seen from him.
"Uh… thank you?" I said, staring at the capsule in confusion. It was made of gold plastic and perfectly opaque, no clues given as to its contents. "I think?"
Minato grunted as he sat back down at the computer. "You're welcome."
"But, uh… what the heck is it?"
Minato said, "Earrings."
"… thanks. Once again, I think?"
A single blue eye turned in my direction. "Recall," Minato said, "a certain pair of earrings I made for your friend Botan…"
And like the mechanism of a gachapon machine, suddenly it all clicked. "Oh. Oh!" I clutched the capsule with new appreciation and shrieked, "OH MY GOD, MINATO, YOU'RE A GODDAMN GENIUS!"
He turned fully in my direction, both brows raised to full mast this time. "Were you not hinting that you wanted a set?" he said in honest-to-god confusion. "I assumed that's why you brought up your tattoos again, but…"
"I completely spaced, actually, and was not dropping any hints. Which doesn't bode well for my intelligence, but I digress." Possessed by my Japanese upbringing, I sank into the lowest and most grateful bow of my entire goddamn life. "Oh my god. Oh my god, Minato, I am so—"
"Don't thank me yet." He turned back to the computer, but I caught the pleased smile on his lips. "I'm not entirely sure how well they will be able to hide your eyes, given I don't know the mechanism that trigger their metamorphosis. But it should hide the tattoos quite easily."
"Oh my god, still, thank you, I am just—wait." I clutched the capsule to my chest. "Am I allowed to wear earrings at school?"
"Are your ears even pierced?" Kagome asked.
"Oh shit, they aren't!"
"Oh, no worries," she brightly intoned. "I can do it in the bathroom if we can find a needle and some ice."
"Please don't," said Minato (he sounded tired again). "And I accounted for that, anyway. They're clip-ons."
It was just too much to bear. Casting my Japanese manners aside, I embraced my American past and marched over to Minato so I could throw my arms around his neck, embrace awkward but sincere as I grabbed him around the back of his chair. He tensed up the second I touched him, but I just nuzzled my face into his hair and held on tight.
"Minato, I adore you," I said with utmost sincerity. "I would do anything for you. You are my favorite human alive and I will literally lay down my life to protect you if required."
"Hey, what'm I, chopped liver?" Kagome warbled.
Not missing a beat, I replied, "You can't make magical earrings—"
"Not magic," said Minato. "Science!"
"—and he can, so right now, he's my fav.""
"Well that sucks!" Kagome laughed. "Looks like I gotta step up my game, huh? Time to learn to shoot holy arrows or whatever Kagome was so famous for, eh?"
We laughed at that—Minato included. His tolerance of our shenanigans continued even when Kagome began to interrogate him about his ability to make jewelry with quasi-magical properties at a moment's notice. Could he make her some diamond earrings that would make her taller, she wondered, or perhaps at least be salable at a high price? I watched her talk with him in silence, glad for her improved mood and Minato's easy socializing, content to hold my new (and instantly treasured) earrings in silence. It didn't hurt that I wasn't sure what else to say, given the night's events… but the earrings certainly eased my worries.
Well, most of them, anyway. I'd be able to return to school with (at least a little) confidence. No more skipping class or ditching dance… but despite the promise of the earrings' help, I still felt uneasy. Displaced. Like an outsider looking in as I watched Minato and Kagome joke about the current market value of quasi-magical jewelry.
We had so many questions, most of them unanswered—and there was no telling when answers would come.
About that, I felt the most uneasy of all.
As the portal closed behind Kagome, Minato removed the tiny gold moons from around the door's frame with flicks of his practiced thumb. He'd sent her home through a janitor's closet, and he explained that he needed to remove and reapply the moon tokens to send me somewhere else on Earth. I waited in silence while he worked, breathing deeply of the arcade's cool, dry air and the scent of singed carpet, and when he at last finished applying the moons, I stepped forward to go home.
But Minato didn't open the door right away. Instead he turned to me with hands in his pockets and stared, unabashed and appraising, until I found myself shifting from foot to foot in uneasy agitation.
"What?" I said after a time. "Something on my face?"
Minato didn't laugh at the joke. All he said was, "How do you feel?"
I blinked at him a few times. "Eh?"
"How do you feel, Captain?" he repeated.
"Um." A beat. "About what, exactly?"
He said nothing. Just stared, level and unwavering. I could do nothing more than fidget in response, eventually laughing as I tried (in vain, mostly) to shrug off his scrutiny.
"I'm fine, Minato," I told him. "Jesus, who are you, me? Have you picked up on my albatrossing?"
Minato's head rose.
Then it dipped again, sharp eyes cooling.
"Perhaps," was all he said, and he reached for the closet doorknob. "Let's get you home."
"Where's the portal lead?" I asked as he pulled the door open.
"Up the street from the restaurant," he said, stepping aside to let me through, "in an alley where you won't be observed. You'll know it when you see it."
"Thanks." Stepping toward the open door, I said, "See you later, then."
"See you." He closed the door a little, cutting off my escape. Blue eyes cut like sharp sea glass when our gazes clashed; I tried my best not to flinch away, though I didn't do a good job. Minato said, "But Captain—"
I pasted on a smile. A Keiko-smile, fake and phony. "Yes?"
He started to speak.
Thought better of it and stepped aside again.
"You know where to find me if you need anything," was all he said, instead, and he let the door drift open.
I think I thanked him for his concern; all I know is that I was polite, but that I wanted to get out of that arcade and away from those cool blue eyes that missed nothing whatsoever, stat. The cool, dry air turned humid and warm the second I crossed the portal's threshold, closing around my body with the scents of garbage and dust and wood and recent rain. Minato's portal had let me out near a dumpster, an oversight that I resolved to admonish him about as the portal closed behind me. Hitching my backpack higher on my shoulders, I booked it away from the dumpster toward the mouth of the alley, shoes splashing through puddles that had pooled in inky blackness upon the asphalt.
The alley lay off the beaten path of a main rode, one I recognized the instant I stepped out of the alley and onto the sidewalk. True to Minato's promise, I knew exactly where I was. The streets were empty for everything save a few alley cats and the moths fluttering around the streetlights, the late hour indicated as much by the cats as by the lack of pedestrians. A quiet walk home, then, alone with my thoughts at last. I wasn't sure if I liked that prospect of that or if I actually hated it, but nevertheless I turned my feet toward home—but when I passed beneath the nearest streetlight and bathed in its gold illumination, I stopped.
Thousands of miles, in another place and time, someone walked over my grave.
It's tough to describe how that felt. A shiver built in my back before shooting up my spine like a bottle rocket made of cold, the feeling of your foot falling asleep after stuck too long in one spot, or perhaps the buzzing of a hundred thousand gnats. I'm half certain my hair stood on end as I whipped around, looking up and down the street for—something. Someone? It was hard to say what I was looking for. All I knew is that I was looking for something, and that whatever it was, it did not mean well.
It's little wonder, then, that I screamed when I heard a thump against the sidewalk behind me, but it was just Hiei, who had appeared in a flash of black and his usual cherry-colored glare. I staggered against the lamppost and clutched at my racing heart, but he just rolled his eyes, offering no apology of any kind for scaring the living goddamn shit out of me, his personal ramen-provider. Ungrateful little shithead…
He at least had the decency to notice how rattled I was. "Meigo," he said, eyes sweeping over me in reluctant concern. "What's wrong?"
"I thought—I dunno." Breathing deep to settle my racing pulse, I asked him, "It sounds silly, but… do you ever get the feeling that you're being watched?" Feeling vengeful, I added, "Or maybe you always feel like that; I dunno…"
I pointed at my forehead, then at his. He glared at my mocking wink, but to my surprise, he soon shut his eyes (the red ones, specifically). A faint purple light illuminated the fabric of his bandana, but in less than a second it winked out again, and his natural eyes opened once more.
"There's no one here," he said, as if that should be perfectly obvious to any sane person. "We're very much alone."
"I mean, I didn't really think we weren't," I retorted (Hiei needed an attitude adjustment, pronto). "Just…" I shuddered again. "Someone walked over my grave, that's all."
"What does that mean?"
"Just an expression." Not wanting to talk about it, and because the feeling had already passed, I shook myself and said, "Anyway. Wasn't expecting to see you this evening." When he didn't reply, I added, "So what's up?"
He didn't react right away. He just stared—and then, to my immense shock, his head ducked low, and he mumbled something under his breath. An odd sight coming from the normally over-proud and cocksure Hiei, I assure you.
"Sorry, what was that?" I asked as I moved toward him, ears straining. "You kind of—"
Red eyes flashed as he looked up, sending me stumbling back a step. "I said, I need your help!" Hiei snapped. "Have your ears stopped working, or are you just feeling particularly dense tonight?"
"Whoa there, partner!" My hands shot into the air like he'd told me this was a robbery. "I wasn't making fun of you, geez!"
Hiei stared. Then, mollified, his head lowered. Again. Confusing little asshole, but whatever…
"… well, OK then." Shake it off, Keiko. Trying to sound nonjudgmental and open-minded, I asked him, "Anyway. Hiei. What seems to be the trouble?"
Like Hiei would ever communicate with words, though; I was expecting way too much out of him. Rather than talk, he just grunted, said "Follow me," and whirled away with a flutter of black cloak. Without a single backward look, he walked off into the night at a brisk pace—and because it wasn't like I had other options or plans that evening, I dutifully followed the demon into the dark, wondering where the hell Hiei was taking me at this time of night.
I just hoped it wouldn't end in, y'know… death or dismemberment, or something.
I hadn't made it through the Dark Tournament to die just a block or two from home, Hiei and his strange midnight requests be damned.
NOTES:
I'm going to go back to biweekly instead of weekly updates; about half of the usual crowd turned up for chapter 108 (lowest turnout in years for this fic, truth be told) and I get the sense I should slow down. We're all busy people, and I don't want to overload you with too much too fast or make y'all feel obligated to stress over reading too-frequent chapters. See you July 12!
I'm also getting some anonymous hate on this site and Tumblr, which is… less than ideal. Going to lie low for a bit and update biweekly so I don't show up at the top of the page as often.
Thanks for reading, those who checked out 108. This chapter is for you: MissIdeophobia, MiYuki Kurama, LadyEllesmere, MyWorldHeartBeating, Edenmae, C S Stars, noble phantasm, cestlavie, xenocanaan, tammywammy9, setokayba2n, trentonlangford, Kaiya Azure, IronDBZ, vodka-and-tea, Sorlian, SterlingBee, Kuesuno, general zargon (welcome back, friend!), Call Brig On Over, Convoluted Compassion, kiralol101
