ambivalence: the state of having simultaneous and contradictory attitudes or feelings regarding something or someone.


It was the beginning of fall, and the humid warmth of summer was gradually being replaced by the crisp, sweet air distinctive to autumn. By this time, most of the trees surrounding his mansion had taken on a reddish-brown hue. Too many leaves already littered the ground, covering the cobbled walkway; his hired help would have to deal with the next morning. Even though Seijuro was seated indoors, he could still feel the slight chill of the autumn night. The dining hall was empty and silent, save for the only occasionally clink of silverware against china. It had taken him years to grow accustomed to the unnatural coldness of a home without his mother around. It had taken him a few more to adjust to his father's lack of involvement in his life.

Reliance on others and desire for others – those had cost him far too many years of his life. They were inefficient, and had no purpose. He had invested so much into the first string, only for their attitudes to be immensely disappointing. Inefficiency was something he simply could not afford. Still, there was a lingering discontentment in his heart. Although he had grown convinced that Eru was an illogical endeavour, he had somehow failed to negate the desire for her presence. He had to focus, and Eru had always been a distraction.

The sound of confident, firm footsteps pulled him from his thoughts, and Seijuro looked up to see a familiar, but undesirable sight. His father had arrived home early from his business trip, and he was in a bad mood – likely a failed business endeavour. Face flushed and eyes narrowed, his father strode towards him, before setting his briefcase down roughly on the table next to him.

"I expect that you have maintained your class ranking while I was away." A typical greeting; after all, he rarely asked of anything else.

"Yes, father." It was a well-practised sentence. He had long since stopped responding thoughtfully to his father's words.

"I have heard of certain things while I was away." He paused as if to allow his words to sink in. "You are still spending excessive amounts of time with the girl?" Seijuro remained silent, but continued to meet his father's gaze evenly.

"I warned you last month. Your priority is your academics, and you will give up on anything that hinders your success; that includes basketball, and any irrelevant friendships that will be useless to you in the future." His father's cold eyes hardened at Seijuro's unresponsiveness. "Am I understood?"

He nodded ever-so-slightly, but it was already sufficient consent that would eventually be used against him. The well-maintained door closed noiselessly behind his father's angry footsteps. He turned his attention back to his tofu soup; it had already gone cold.


On days that Seijuro seemed particularly distant, Eru had taken to frequenting 3B – Midorima's form class. Admittedly, she had neglected him for the most part in their second year, being far too preoccupied with managing the team, dealing with her household problems, and of course, spending time with Seijuro. She had always been close to Midorima – second only to Seijuro – due to his reserved, logical demeanour that often had the unintended effect of allaying her fears. It was during those lazy afternoons spent playing shogi against him that she realised just how much she had missed his presence.

The patience Midorima treated her with, as well as the evident concern he expressed were strongly reminiscent of Seijuro's old attitude. She felt the heart constrict; Seijuro no longer waited at the entrance for her arrival, dismissing it as a waste of time that could be spent more wisely elsewhere. It was almost strange how the weather seemed to mirror his mood. The gradual descent into the colder months was not unlike the increasingly apparent chill she could feel every time she was around him. Sometimes, it was more obvious – when the first string was not up to standard, when he made even the slightest mistake in a test; others, she could almost fool herself into thinking that nothing had changed. Almost.

"Your move, Nanase," Midorima gazed at her expectantly. Judging from the way his eyes softened infinitesimally, she realised that she must have looked particularly flustered. The unnaturally strained silence between them was interrupted only by the soft clink as she captured Midorima's piece; even the air seemed strangely still.

"Do you think he'll go back to normal?" She blurted. She had done it – not just shattering the silence by laying her worst fear on the table, but also shattering any unwarranted peace of mind that came with avoiding problems. Embarrassed by her outburst, Eru averted her eyes away from his shrewd gaze, allowing her hair to fall forward like a curtain, covering her flushed cheeks. A brief, tense silence followed as Midorima considered her question.

"There is a possibility. On occasion, there are glimpses of his past self," he began tactfully, afraid to confirm her fears but equally afraid of giving her unfounded hope. "But only when he is with you, and you cannot afford to be naïve enough to expect a change."

A wry smile crept onto Eru's face. Although his typically brutally honest answers had ultimately made their appearance, she did not miss his attempt at gentleness – it was endearing, really. While his words rang with truth, and she would be naïve to believe otherwise, Midorima had neglected something extremely important: she had no choice but to believe.

The game continued with little interruption, as they lapsed into a companionable silence. Unlike when she played with Seijuro, she stood a fair chance of beating Midorima – likely a result of the hours she had spent in the clubroom despairing about the former's inevitable victory. In fact, she might even say that most of the victories belonged to her.

By the time the other students had started filtering out of the classroom, and the autumn sun was beginning to set, the silence between them was dispelled by the decisive clack of a piece against the shogi board.

Checkmate.

But it wasn't her who won.


She was awoken from her slumber by a familiar touch. Rubbing the sleep slowly from her eyes, she looked up to see Seijuro's familiar piercing gaze focussed directly on her. Her pile of homework lay unfinished on the clubroom table, and she sheepishly attempted to conceal the blotches of ink where her pen had been pressed against the paper as she dozed off. A smile unwittingly crept onto her face at the sight of his hair – slightly dishevelled after the long school day – and the instinctive lightness she felt when he was near. Her lips parted, prepared to utter a warm greeting, only to be interrupted.

"Eru, go home now." The usual layer of concern beneath his words was replaced by a command. For a moment, she stared at him incredulously, tempted to retort, but the coldness in his expression chilled her enough for her to avert her eyes. With unrivalled briskness and purpose, Eru shoved her belongings into her bag, making sure to avoid eye contact with Seijuro. Although she would later insist defiantly that this was a result of anger, the truth burrowed its way deep into her heart: she was terrified of seeing that expression again.

The strained silence between them hung like a dark cloud, as if trying actively to display the nearly-palpable tension, but shrouding the more important things in between. Slipping her bag onto her shoulders, Eru brushed past him and pulled open the door. Without casting a final glance at Seijuro, she slipped through the door, before finally allowing her tears to trail down her cheeks.


He wondered what compelled him to say the words in such a cutting manner. The moment when hurt flashed across her face replayed itself in his mind, and felt a pang in his chest upon the realisation that he had caused it. His face remained an impassive mask even as the door shut with a definite click.

To him, it was almost a constant struggle – between heart and mind, emotion and logic, desire and obligation. Every so often, he would stand at that crossroad, forced to decide between one or the other in order to move on. Two options that he had from the beginning, both of which he was equally willing to choose or sacrifice. And, for the longest time, he had decided to prioritise his heart; after all, his mother had reinforced that victory was inconsequential, if attained without love. After his one-on-one against Murasakibara, it was as if his mindset had experienced a drastic switch. Contrary to popular belief, this was not a by-product of coercion, rather, a subconscious decision on his part spurred by the prospect of failure.

Seijuro tried not to regret past decisions. Far too often, that particular emotion hindered logical processing and rational thinking with little result, save for the occasional bout of self-directed anger. He slumped into the chair previously occupied by Eru, and applied pressure on his temples using the base of his hands. Despite everything, he felt more than a twinge of regret at how he had come across to her – even if it had been for her own good. Seijuro heaved a sigh upon the realisation that he had allowed her to leave with misunderstandings; the scarf he had intended to give to her for protection from the weather weighed his bag down like a broken promise.

He rose, determined to brush aside his unexpectedly dramatic moment; he would simply have to wait to give it to her another day. In the meantime, there was far too much to do than to waste time on such trivialities.


The train ride back to her family compound was crowded to the point of discomfort, and there were insufficient seats for her. Eru held on tightly to the metal pole, hoping that her surroundings would provide her ample distraction from the destructive thoughts that threatened to break through the mental barriers holding them back.

By the time she reached her station, the sky had transitioned into a relentless, inky expanse, save for the occasional indistinct star that fought to triumph over the darkness. As she trudged home, she struggled to ignore the heaviness of her heart and the flash of indignation she felt towards her situation. She knew she had much to be thankful for – her relative wealth and intelligence, her health, her friendships – and she did try recall the privileges she had before she even considered making an insensitive or ungrateful comment. But, in moments of vulnerability, it was just difficult to ignore the state of her family, especially when she desperately needed a place of refuge.

The front gate to the Nanase compound loomed over her almost menacingly; the polished metal felt cold against her fingers as she fumbled with her keys. While the trees lining the walkway seemed particularly alive with their fiery hues, her garden in autumn was dismal compared to its magnificence in springtime. Closing the gate behind her, she breathed in the crisp air to calm herself, while hoping thoroughly that her parents were in a good mood.

Dead leaves crunched beneath her shoes, and it crossed her mind that life was so transient and indifferent. The beauty of spring had passed so quickly, and the liveliness of autumn was a mere façade. It was only a matter of time before everything came to its inevitable end. And, the worst part was, it would mean everything to her, but it was nothing but insignificant in the grand scheme of things. A process that was as natural as the seasons, and as indifferent as the world.


A/N: I hope this chapter made sense because it did in my head. On the bright side, there's only one chapter remaining for Part I! I intended to reveal the thought processes behind some of Akashi's actions, and my own understanding of Bokushi/Oreshi duality. It would be really helpful if you could spare some time to give me feedback! c: