Author's Notes: This was done earlier, but I felt that releasing it on the anniversary of the first chapter would be more appropriate. So I hope the wait wasn't too unbearable. Thanks again to all my fans, new and old, who've faved, alerted, reviewed or just read the story to this point and want to see more. Hope the ride's been fun, and hope what's to follow makes it worth the time.
Not much else to say besides the usual. Read, enjoy, review. I like hearing what's working and what isn't, what the most and least favourite parts for my readers are, and so on.
Oh, and a word of warning. Rating has been upped for language in this chapter, and things are going to get a bit dark for the next little while. So bring an umbrella and a flashlight.
Chapter 13
The sound of falling rain was everywhere, sounding more like gunshots than water droplets. But that didn't make sense – the sky was clear with sunshine and rainbows dancing around him, near and far. There was no place for rain here. This was Heaven. But that didn't stop it from falling around him and soaking him from brows to boots.
"Mom? Where are you?"
Nanako? I can't see you, where-
"It's alright though. I have Dad with me, and Big Bro."
Then he saw her, standing in an archway and speaking to a circling blue butterfly, dressed in her usual white and pink. He shivered and tried to get to her, but he couldn't reach her. Mud sucked at his boots while rain water weighed down his clothes and armour. Even his sword was heavier than a lead weight.
He had to get to her. Had to save her. He pushed harder, finding some give in the mud and landing on a stair, slogging forward while his heart raced with exertion, and something more. Terror. Dread. He knew something was coming. Something dangerous. He knew the feeling too well to ignore it, and started scrambling toward her. "Nanako! Come over here!"
"I'll bring Big Bro with me, Mom. We'll come see you, so you won't be lonely."
"I'm right here, Nanako!"
It didn't matter. She couldn't hear him, and no matter how hard he struggled, she never got any closer. He abandoned his sword and shoved his water-logged bangs from his eyes, struggled forward, drew on his Personas, anything to get to her.
The rain intensified. Raindrops melded together like static on a TV. Continuous, relentless, and growing louder. Then it didn't sound like rain or a static signal, but a truck engine so loud that he couldn't hear Nanako anymore. His legs froze, held fast as the mud turned into concrete. He struggled and strained, but couldn't move as the truck roared toward him. He looked around frantically, but couldn't find it. He saw the headlights and shielded his eyes, but the body of the truck only came into sight as it passed him, close enough to touch. It was Namatame's delivery truck.
Souji stared in horror as the vehicle sped toward the archway and his cousin. Words froze like a knot in his chest. He couldn't call her, or breathe, or shout.
Closer, closer the truck roared. Accelerating.
The knot gave out, and Souji inhaled just as screaming brakes filled his ears and the sounds of the truck crashing – glass breaking, metal grinding, fibreglass snapping– slammed into him, stopping him still.
He swore he could see blood trickling between the tires.
Souji woke up in a flash, sweat and tears blinding him, a scream of loss on his lips. It was only the feeling of his blanket over him and the familiar darkness that choked him off. No rainbows, no clouds or sunshine. No golden arches or blue butterflies. But the rain, the rain was still there.
He heard several shouts from outside. Sharp tones and sharper words echoed up to his window, and he staggered off his futon, then yanked down his blinds to look out into the rain.
A collision. A car pulling out from a parking space and a delivery van rushing down slick roads. A man in a business suit was waving angrily at another man in a green uniform.
A dream. Or rather, a nightmare.
Souji let out several shuddering breaths before he stumbled back into his desk chair. The world was spinning and Nanako's voice still filled his ears. He felt sick. His hands were clammy as they braced his head over his desk. He felt the sweat and tears burn tracks down his face as he struggled for control, trying to drive out the memories and the rain. His stomach eventually calmed and the world righted itself, but he gave up trying to ignore the rain and looked at the clock by his futon. 4:19 am. He gave a disgusted groan and leaned back in his chair. No way he was getting any more sleep tonight.
His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he glanced across his desk to the framed pictures of his time in Inaba. They never failed to being a smile to his face. When he reached for one of Yukiko, Chie and Yosuke, however, the photo blurred and his eyes focused on his outstretched left hand, and the scars reflected in the glass. The appendage froze, and he couldn't help looking at the grisly reflection staring back at him, at the patched-over skin on the back of his hand. At the damage it represented.
With a heavy sigh he turned away from the pictures, spinning his chair so his back was to the pictures – he didn't need to associate his family and friends in Inaba with nightmares and rain anymore than they already were. Instead he steered his thoughts inward. It had been almost four months since he'd moved to Kofu, and it felt like as good a time as any to reflect and take stock of what he'd accomplished.
The problem was, what he saw didn't improve his mood. He'd slipped right back into the same non-committal two step with his parents that they'd been dancing for years. He brushed past his mother without a second thought and avoided his father whenever he could, and yet it still bothered him despite his efforts to distance himself from them. There was still a part of him, he realized with a mixture of exasperation and jaded resignation, that he'd never outgrown. A child in a long-neglected part of his mind with his arms open still waiting to be picked up by his parents, held in stasis for more years than he wanted to admit. He knew that part of himself was there before Inaba, and even tried to dismiss it all the more when he reached Kofu. He wanted nothing to do with his parents, and he could say that without reservation or regret. He wanted to let go, to move on from the casket his family life had been inhabiting for years. Unfortunately, it was like trying to ignore a child on a candy buzz. The more he tried to dismiss it, the more persistently it grabbed his attention.
He shook his head sharply, which only brought his attention to a dull headache growing in the back of his skull. Enough about his parents. He tried thinking about school, and felt his mood improve. Only slightly.
Had he gotten past his usual mistrust of people his own age? He'd been able to talk to Megumi-san more openly now that he'd explained his situation with Yukiko to her. And Yoshiro-kun was no less a friend than he'd been from the first day they'd met. But that reflected on himself more than anything, and he couldn't help but think that it wasn't respect or intellect or background that separated him from his peers, but fear. Maybe fear of rejection, or perhaps fear of losing something dear in the end. He'd never kept in touch with his friends from his previous schools, and indeed could barely remember any of their names now. He'd grown so accustomed to seeing the apartment filled with moving boxes instead of furniture that letting go became a reflex. Easier to move on when you never got attached to something in the first place.
Only now he couldn't tell himself that. He went along with his friends in Inaba out of necessity and courtesy at first, and then found himself utterly unable to let go, holding on tighter than a nail to a finger. They'd gotten under his skin, broken him open and pulled him along for the ride, and he couldn't find a sliver of resentment in his heart for them waking him up. And that was the problem. Had he been a coward before? Had he just let go and given up on what might have been good friendships because he was too afraid to invest himself? And was he doing it now, itching to graduate and get back to Inaba and leave Kofu behind as swiftly as he'd arrived?
And never mind the friends he might have made, what about Yukiko? How was it fair to her that the most presence he had in her life now was that of a voice on the phone? They talked regularly, often about nothing at all, but was that enough? What could he offer her, being halfway across Japan from her? And they hadn't even discussed university yet. Another hurdle to overcome, and would that just be more of the same? Living in separate places, leading separate lives with memories to keep them together? Stolen weekends once a month and a phone bill that could feed a large family?
He shook his head again, this time aggravating his headache. He hated the rain. It never failed to turn his thoughts grim, to make his fixate on his failures like they were on a billboard beside the Chuo Expressway. That his eyes felt like sandpaper wasn't helping. He couldn't seem to keep them open though. Maybe if he closed his eyes for just a bit, he could get some rest...
"Big Bro!"
His entire body jerked this time, snapped awake by a heart rate that was in no way healthy. Nope. No more sleep. He yawned one last time, near to the point of dislocating his jaw, and pushed himself up to get dressed. Coffee sounded good. Three sugars, extra strong, and a session with the apartment's exercise room seemed in order.
He'd fought through Shadows and faced the subconscious feelings of his closest friends in the forms of murderous monsters. This was just bad dreams and worse weather. He could handle this.
Muscles so sore he couldn't hold himself up, let alone a sword, or headaches so bad he couldn't walk straight, or even propped up against a wall, bleeding from claw wounds. Prolonged exhaustion and stressed-induced sleep deprivation. These were things he was used to handling. Same with spending hours tactfully brushing off tastefully decorated daughters of his family's business partners while being bored to tears through long-winded speeches and not nearly enough food.
What he was swiftly learning he couldn't handle as easily was his classmates, namely Yuhara and his flunkies on the basketball team. Much as Souji had sworn off playing around the braggart, Yoshiro had been adamant that his presence was necessary at practice that day. Souji's flat out denials fell on deaf ears as Yoshiro offered money, favours, bribes, and even a place on the team for his critique of the team as a whole and Yoshiro's own playing. Souji still said no, that time and the following four times until the team captain had made an utter spectacle of asking him, literally on hands and knees in front of the school store between classes. The busiest place on campus, during the busiest time of the day, and Souji was at the centre of attention while Yoshiro was prostrating himself in front of him, loudly and clearly wording his requests. The sheer unexpectedness of it, not to mention how it placed Seta Souji, transfer student, man of mystery, resident heartbreaker, and boy toy to Risette herself in the spotlight once again stopped him from answering. Then Yoshiro repeated himself, and Souji's temper snapped. He took two steps forward and grabbed the team captain by the arm and began to haul him into the crowd with a grimace as black as asphalt. Yoshiro resisted at first, trying to wring a concession out of Souji first. He'd underestimated how strong Souji was under his loose clothes, however.
"Will you do it then?"
"Let's just get out of here!"
Anything else Yoshiro had to say was lost as he had to scramble to keep his feet while Souji pushed through the swiftly-parting crowd to a mostly deserted alcove. When the class bell rang the other students began to move on, but it was Souji's glare that kept attention off of them. It didn't, however, stop the whispers and pointing that had wasted no time in starting. Souji turned to Yoshiro, already feeling a new headache adding to his old one.
"So?" Yoshiro asked, not a hint of apology on his face.
"You ever do that again," Souji grated, "and you could offer me your firstborn child and I'd still tell you to go to Hell."
"Okay, fair enough."
"No, I'm serious. That was completely unnecessary and probably the most pathetic thing I've seen in months. And I've seen you and the others play for keeps."
"So will you do it?"
Souji glared once more to make sure he had Yoshiro's attention. "Fine. But we'll discuss the price later. And it's not going to be cheap."
Yoshiro's smile could have powered a corporate block with its sheer wattage. Unfortunately, it was so bright that it only amplified the pounding between Souji's ears and behind his eyes.
So he fulfilled his obligations and gave the advice Yoshiro was so desperate for, and to their credit the team only argued a little with him. They'd split up afterwards, some shooting hoops while the others, Souji included, were practicing passes. There was a lull in the conversation that spawned a heavy tension in the air, something Souji picked up on only at the last second.
"So've you guys seen Risette's new poster series?" Yuhara inquired in all his smug glory, tossing Souji a superior look.
Anything Souji was about to say was cut off by several others, practically on cue, asking about them. And Yuhara spared no expense in regaling them where he'd been when he found said poster collection, or how expensive it was, or going into lurid detail about what Rise was doing in them and what parts of her the poses emphasized most. Souji spared his teeth a heavy grating and instead focused on keeping the ball moving, mixing his throws to his partners while he tried to drone them out.
"What's up Seta? Nothing to say?" Yuhara asked finally, looking over at the transfer student archly.
"Not really."
The others went silent for a moment, not expecting that answer. "No? Not at all? Doesn't bug you, what guys think about Risette?"
Souji glanced over at them coldly. "She's not my girlfriend, contrary to what the rumour mill thinks. She's a model, and I'm sure she's aware of what you do every time she hits TV or the airwaves."
"Pffft. Right, Pretty Boy. And you don't?"
"She's not my type. So no, I don't lick the screen every time her commercials come on. I happen to respect her a lot more than that."
"Right. And you keep that respect at the front of your mind and everything, I bet?"
Souji caught the ball and held it close, finally turning a flat look to his class mate. "So hard to believe?"
"No one's like that, Seta. Not us, not adults, no one cares that much about someone's precious feelings when sex is involved."
Souji snorted, spinning the ball up on one finger. "That says a lot more about you than it does about me, Yuhara. If you can't believe in people even to that extent, then I'd call you pathetic before I'd call Rise shallow."
Yuhara smiled, now just as cold as Souji, and his voice took on a vile innuendo. "You and your morals, Pretty Boy. Tell me, is she natural?"
"She's got plenty of talent, sure."
Yuhara came closer and dropped his voice. "You spend all that time with her, so I'm sure you've hit it, right? Her hair really that colour?"
The temperature plummeted around them. Discussions died out as Souji stepped closer to Yuhara, eyes never wavering. "You'd better take that back right now," he growled. "No matter how twisted your fantasies are of her, she deserves a lot more respect than that. Even from you."
"Reality check, Pretty Boy," Yuhara taunted. "She's a blow-up doll."
He'd stressed the middle word enough that Souji tossed to ball to the side and stalked up to the player, fists clenched. What did they know? How could they ever know what Rise had gone through, facing herself in the TV and coming to terms with everything afterwards? How could they understand what he and the others fought against to save her? Hearing Yuhara was rapidly degrading Souji's reason as he closed the little remaining distance between them, every step hammering through the court. One of the team members, seeing the writing on the wall, tried to stop one or the other. Souji reacted when he felt an arm on his shoulder, rolling his arm around the restraining limb, sharply snapping him off-balance, and shoving hard so he staggered back. Souji's other hand came up and curled around Yuhara's shoulder, bringing his smug face down to within whispering distance. "Last time offered," Souji hissed. "Take that back right now."
"Hey! Yuhara!" Yoshiro snapped, pushing past the others from the sidelines. "Yuhara! Souji! Enough!"
The two were frozen in place for a long moment before Yuhara finally broke off, pulling back, brushing Souji's hand off of him, and looking to the captain. "Yes?"
"Fifteen laps around the court."
"What?" Even the other team members looked surprised.
"You heard me. I told you to stay away from Seta, didn't I?"
"We were just-"
"Didn't I?"
Souji backed off a few steps, watching for the first time as Yoshiro seemed genuinely close to losing his usual composure.
Yuhara shrugged. "So what? We were just talking."
"About Risette again?"
No reply.
"Well?"
Souji glanced around. "If no one else will say it, I will. He made some crude insinuations about her."
Yoshiro snorted. "Figures. I warned you, Yuhara. Fifteen rounds. Get moving."
"Captain," Yuhara objected after sending Souji a caustic look, "it was nothing. Just what we always do at practice."
"Are you deaf? I don't care what you used to do or say. This fascination with Risette of yours is becoming disrespectful, especially around a friend of hers, and when you're wearing that jersey, you're representing all of us. Save the gloating and girls for off-campus. Now get moving."
"Really, it's-"
"Shall I make it forty?" The threat hung in the air, and throughout it all, Souji was as cold and stoic as ever. He had to give Toyama Yoshiro credit though; when he snapped, he didn't hold back. "You're not much use to me if you can't follow directions," Yoshiro continued. "And I have other forwards I can suggest we use this week."
Yuhara glared back. "You wouldn't take the chance, captain. Not with the national scouts being here. You want to win as much as we do."
"And the scouts will be watching for effort on the court," Yoshiro replied smoothly, not budging an inch. "But if you'd rather sit those ones out..."
Yuhara sent one more glare to Souji before he broke from the team lines and began his laps. Yoshiro turned to the others. "Well?" Soon enough the balls were being passed back and forth, and Souji and Yoshiro were off to the side. The team captain glanced over at the transfer student, an unusually sober look on his face. "Sorry about that."
"Don't." Souji replied shortly, massaging his temples. "That apology's not yours to give."
"I know. You looked like you were about to throw down there."
Souji stayed silent.
"Bet it wouldn't have been pretty, either," Yoshiro continued. "Still, if you are going to grind him into paste, could you wait until nationals are over?"
"No love lost then?"
Yoshiro snorted, a brittle glint of anger in his eyes. "I can guess what he said to piss you off. He talked a lot about Megumi when we started going out, and none of it was good. Yuhara's had a bad childhood, rough family, but that doesn't excuse what he said. I won't hold it against you if you two get into a scrap. Just don't break him too much, as a favour to me?"
Souji gave a cross between a chuckle and a grunt. "More favours, huh? I'm keeping a running tab now, you know."
Yoshiro chuckled. "Good. And I appreciate the help today. I still owe you, and I'm good for it."
"Alright, Yoshiro-kun. I'll play nice. Or I'll try to exercise restraint, anyway."
"I'd appreciate it. C'mon, yakitori sticks on me?"
Souji shook his head. "Thanks, but I need some painkillers before my head explodes. Rain cheque?"
"Sounds good. And take it easy, yeah?"
"I'll try." Souji grabbed his bags and left the gym, revelling in the relative silence of the hallways. Having Yoshiro on his side brought an unexpected lightness to his shoulders. Nothing had changed, really, but having confirmation was something Souji never took for granted. Maybe things would calm down enough for him to rest now. Just for a little bit.
Things did calm down. For the rest of that day. Souji knew it wasn't going to last.
"No, Inoue-san."
"I could use the favour here, Seta-kun. Rise's still angry at me for Hiyori-san being as careful as she was during the Tanabata festival."
"Last time I got involved with Rise in public, I had to dodge the media for almost a month. My classmates still won't shut up about it and my parents gave me hell for being every gossip rag's new front-page star." It was an exaggeration, but the rain hadn't stopped. Nor had his sleep deprivation. And his headache was back, this time with friends. "And now you want me to go to a party with her, where there will almost certainly be cameras and paparazzi. I don't think they've forgotten about me that easily."
"That's just it though. You've been on their front pages already. They're going to be less interested about old news than if you were seen with Rise for the first time."
"That's some pretty strange logic," Souji pointed out. "If I were small news, I wouldn't have lasted on the front pages for as long as I did. And you're overlooking the fact that I stand out no matter where I go, and, second, that nothing, absolutely nothing, ever goes according to plan when I'm involved."
"If it makes you feel any better, some of those magazines kept you on the front page because of how well you sold. Some agents were even asking me and Rise about you. And your little marriage trick back in Inaba worked rather spectacularly," Inoue pointed out.
"That was Inaba. Nobody knows where Inaba is. I have an address here, though, and people know where to find me."
The agent sighed on the line. "What will it take to get you on board with this? Name your price."
"You didn't hear me, Inoue-san. My answer's 'no.' Rise can handle herself. And she has you for dealing with the competition and threatening lawsuits."
"I can't be there tonight, Seta-kun. I'm booked solid, and so are the others."
"Then why the concern? Why do you want me there so badly?"
The agent sighed across the line. "I know I'm being overprotective, but I just have a bad feeling about tonight. Rise's gotten some stiff competition since her comeback. I'm sure you've heard about it."
"Girls like Kanamin. I'd heard there'd been some heated words between them. But they were on the rise when Rise was on sabbatical. What's the problem?"
"Rise stole the spotlight when she got back to Tokyo, a lot more than we expected. Maybe it was the hype surrounding Inaba and the murders, maybe it's been your antics and the marriage thing, or maybe Rise's just that much more into her work and people are picking up on that. The point is, there's some bad blood between her and some of the people running the show tonight, and I can't be there."
"So tell Rise and cancel her appearance. Better to err on the side of caution, right?"
"And I would if I could. But the other agents attending the photo shoot? The photographer? We've been planning to meet them for months, and I don't want to lose this chance."
"So make a tough call, Inoue-san."
"I am. I'm willing to give you a blank cheque, figuratively or literally, whatever you want, for you being there to watch out for her. Just for tonight."
"You're really not taking 'no' for an answer, are you? I don't even know what to expect, and you're sending me in to protect her like I'm a bouncer or something."
"I get the feeling you can more than handle yourself if anything goes wrong, Seta-kun." Souji didn't answer, occupied with massaging his temples again. This was exactly what he didn't need. "I know you can handle yourself, in fact."
"You make it sound like you expect me to need to fight off a group of thugs out for her blood, you know."
"We're a little more subtle than that in entertainment. For the most part."
Souji grunted sourly. "How reassuring."
"Please, Seta-kun? I'm hoping it will be for nothing, and then you'll have just wasted a few hours of your evening. And I'll be in your debt."
"And if I hang up now, you'll have my number on redial for the rest of the day, won't you?"
"I'd hate to have to do that."
That Inoue hadn't said 'no' was not lost on Souji. The silver-haired teen finally sighed. "You make very, very sure I'm kept out of the spotlight this time. No pictures, no magazine covers, no mention of my name at this thing whatsoever."
"You got it. We'll handle it this time."
"I mean it, Inoue-san," Souji replied calmly, far too calm to be normal. "I don't care if it bankrupts you or involves blackmailing people in the government. I don't want any fame after tonight.
"I'll make sure the arrangements are made. You have my word," Inoue promised. "Thank you, Seta-kun. I'll find a way to repay you."
Souji sighed. "Yeah, well, this seems to be my week for favours. Send me the address and time and I'll be there."
And that was how he'd ended up in a spacious living room sipping drinks and keeping an eye on Rise while she flitted from photographer to agent to privileged fan like an iridescent butterfly. She'd caught him in a hug when he first arrived, then scampered to the back for a short photo shoot with enough energy to make him tired just watching her. She'd had a broad enough change of outfits that he wasn't sure how she'd fit it all into her bag, and was back before he had time to worry. So far he was wondering why Inoue was worried in the first place.
After dosing up with enough painkillers to dull the roar in his head, he'd tossed on his trademark black jacket, gloves, and plain white shirt before setting out for the evening. His father was working late and his mother was engrossed in her paperwork in the office, so he'd slipped out with nary a word. The only addition to his ensemble was the black ball cap he'd gotten from Yoshiro at some point to conceal his hair. Inoue could make all the promises he wanted, but Souji wasn't taking chances.
Still, the party was nothing outside what he expected from other high school students, being largely populated by idols his own age and their fans, with the odd pocket of suited adults talking business. The drinks were abundant, to the point that Souji was sure someone was spiking the supply, the music was loud enough to pull his headache back from its drug-induced absence, and the party had an energy to it that made him glad to attend, and even more glad to observe from the sidelines. More than once he'd had a sparkle-eyed girl tug at his arm and gesture toward the dance floor, and more than once he'd politely turned the offer down. Others came over with the offer of refills and he consistently pointed to the drink he'd been nursing and replied "Thanks. I have one."
He kept his hair covered and his eyes bouncing around the room, watching Rise enjoy herself. But, and perhaps to Inoue's credit, while there had been some inquiries tossed his way, no one asked to see him in front of the camera. Or even asked if he'd been seen with Rise lately, and that played no small part in improving his mood. There was no shortage of eye candy, he had to admit. Plenty of bare leg and thigh and arm, naked midriffs and bouncing breasts, sweat-streaked in the noise and rush of the dancing. None of it struck him as being more than window dressing, however. The girls, some of whom he wasn't certain were even legal, had a wide variety of hair styles, but so often those styles were wild and untamed and multi-coloured. Very few had long hair, and he couldn't help comparing them to Yukiko. And he found those in front of him lacking every time. Similarly, the odd girl on the dance floor shot him smoky looks and sinuously twisted her body to the beat, a more obvious invitation than a neon sign next to a street-side hawker in Tokyo.
And yet it held no appeal to him. The girls were trying hard to catch his eye, yet Yukiko never had to. Maybe that was unfair, but her decorum and gentle voice always grabbed his attention far easier than a shouted greeting. And her iron determination and occasional naive outlook on life both connected with him and made him feel necessary. She was quiet resolve, and reminded him of the strength arcane: mind and will over physical matter.
That said though, he had to admit that her physical matter being so perfectly shaped was impossible to ignore. It added to the already amazing package.
Souji glanced over the crowd once again before draining his drink and heading to the table to pour another, nodding to the guest next to him and about to pick up his glass when he was crashed into from behind, a warbling and completely off-key "Seeenpaai!" ringing in his ears while a familiar pair of arms clumsily wrapped around his body. He barely had time to brace himself against the drink table against the impact, but he held his footing. He turned around, about to ask Rise why that was necessary–
–but she kissed him on the lips, hard, the moment he did. One arm pulled her up against him when it wrapped around his shoulder.
He froze. It felt good, there was no denying that, but it was sloppy. Uneven, too much moving, and she was leaving more than a sample of lipstick and spit on him. When he pulled back sharply, indignation and a touch of anger in his throat, he clamped his teeth shut when he saw her.
For as long as he'd known her, Rise always took care to look good. Whether it was at school, the tofu shop, hanging out or killing Shadows in the TV world, she always had an air of grace about her, and her clothes clung to her however she wished. Sassy and sexy, happy and cheerful, she could pull off any look she wanted.
But now she looked disheveled, and it had to do with more than what she wore. Her hair seemed messier than the party prescribed (that he'd thought it was wrong, he'd reflect later, didn't make any sense; she'd been visiting and dancing for most of the night), her clothes were askew, and her skin was flushed. Not evenly, but rather in blotches, like someone had sprayed paint on her with the nozzle half clogged. Her usual smile was uneven, her lips shivering, and her eyes were both unfocused and completely clear when she looked at him. Almost feverish, he realized with mounting horror.
"Rise?" She tried to keep her head straight as she looked at him, but it started bobbling to the side, and she laughed almost hysterically. "Rise, talk to me. What's wrong?"
"Yer sooo serious, Senpai," she drawled, leaning into him and staring with those unfocused eyes. "You should jus' chill out, an' have a drink."
Souji remembered Tatsumi Port Island, and the group's antics at Club Escapade. The memory, and where they were now, was enough to send a chill down his spine. "Is that what happened? Did you drink something?" She tripped on her own feet, and Souji held her up with a grunt. "Come on, Rise. Talk to me. What did you do?"
"Nuthin', Seeenpai. We were jus' talkin'."
"What else? This isn't like before." And his sharp tone was catching attention from the others around him. It figured. Nothing ever went right.
"Beefore?"
"At Club Escapade. You're different this time. What did you drink?"
The heat of the party made him sweat, but it was a minor inconvenience. Having an amorous Rise pressed up against him, however, was something else entirely. He reached behind himself and grabbed at his drink and threw it back in two gulps. She looked thoughtful, or as thoughtful as she could, pressed against him and not able to stand on her own. "'M not sure, Senpai."
"That doesn't help. C'mon, can you walk? It's time we left."
"But it's raining, an' I was gunna–"
"Your health matters more now. Can you walk?"
Some fans came from behind her, concern written on their face. "Hey, is Risette okay?"
Souji stared at them suspiciously before replying. "What did she drink over there? Was it booze?"
They looked bewildered, then guilty. "Huh? Oh, uh, well they were serving something over there, but it-" Then he stopped, looking anywhere but at Rise and Souji.
Souji's eyes narrowed and a sharp retort was on his lips–
–And his legs turned to water underneath him. Rise's weight pushed him back into the table, hard, and his knees nearly buckled. The music, unbearably loud, ripped into his eardrums and rang around his skull. His headache was back with a vengeance. He nearly fell entirely, and would have, if not for a flailing arm grasping the table. His balance was shot. The world tilted at a harsh angle, then back over, and all he could do was grasp the table and hang on for the ride. Rise, distorted and splashed with colour as everything became unbearably bright, mouthed something, but he couldn't hear anything over the noise of the music. Her weight was gone from his other arm, and he scrambled around for something, anything, to drink. What he found and managed to get down his throat was tonic and normal water. The drink he'd poured for himself earlier, and obviously not the one he'd tossed back first.
He held onto the table until the spinning subsided a little. He could feel his legs again. And when he looked up, all he saw was Rise. Her eyes were painful to look at, reflecting every colour of the party straight into his brain, but over the noise he heard her. Senpai... Help me. Get me out of here. Pleading. Worry and fear. This he was used to.
Maybe he'd imagined it. Maybe it was his subconscious exerting control in the best way it could. Or maybe it really was her, and whatever had been in that drink wasn't enough to put him down completely. But when he came back to the party around him, he wrapped an arm around Rise and started struggling for the door. Some people got in the way, and were shoved aside. Others tried to help, and only threw them off more. But Rise's laughter had stopped, and her arms around him felt like they were clinging to a life preserver. It was enough to keep what was left of his mind intact and on the target.
He'd never know how they got their shoes on, or how he made it out the door without crashing down the concrete steps. What he did know was that the rain, now pouring hard, was a welcome comfort. The cold, wet wall he leaned against while he caught his balance kept him grounded. He had enough sense to notice Rise wasn't wearing a jacket, and he pulled an arm out of its sleeve and puller her close, wrapping her up. She seemed a little better, or at least enough to talk normally. Still, both of them being drugged was more than he could deal with right now. Busy or not, Inoue could come and–
Only his phone wasn't there. Souji checked his other pockets, slowly, thoroughly. No phone. He'd either lost it in the party, or during their remarkable egress. He kept the anger down, and checked his pockets again. Nope, his wallet wasn't there either. Nor was his hat, now that he stopped to notice. They were standing at the edge of an alley, soaking wet, and neither had an easy way home when they needed it most. He started swearing viciously, exercising what control he had over his mind and speech capabilities.
"Senpai?" She sounded small, quiet, and vulnerable, but it was better. She was still leaning on him pretty hard though. "We're not far from the park. Where we saw the fireworks."
Souji looked around, trying to gain his bearings. But it didn't work. "You sure?" She nodded, shivering in the rain. "Can you get us there?"
"Yep. This way."
And they made it, slowly, painstakingly, to the edge of the lake. Souji had to hand it to Rise: for the situation they were in, she'd kept a cool head. She smiled weakly when he told her so, but burrowed into his side more.
For all the chances of catching hypothermia, the rain was a godsend for them both. The sensations, the moisture, and how it kept them cool was helping them fight off whatever drugs they'd been slipped. Souji felt his steps more sharply than before, regaining some of his usual grace and balance, and Rise wasn't slurring her words. They kept up the small talk as they walked along the path, both trying to keep their mind off of how awful they felt.
But then there was a set of wolf whistles and cat calls from in front of them. Souji stopped and propped Rise against the railing, staring into the park lights and gloom. And what showed itself was exactly what he didn't need: Yuhara and some of his flunkies. Souji didn't recognize most of them, but the unsteady sway to their walk and disheveled appearance told him enough.
"Hey there Seta," Yuhara drawled as he came into the light of one of the lake lamps that lines the shore. "Of all the people to meet by the park. You an' Risette out for a stroll?"
"Get out of the way, Yuhara," Souji growled, anger and adrenaline trickling into his veins. At least he could talk straight again.
"Dude, did you say Risette?" one of the others asked, a slight but notable slur to his words. Including Yuhara, there were five of them.
"Yep," Yuhara replied smugly. "Seta here's good friends with her, and that's the lady herself on his arm." More cheers and whistles went up, and Souji gritted his teeth while pulling Rise protectively closer. Yuhara kept going. "I don't know about you guys, but I'd like to chat with her. A little more one on one with the idol queen herself, you know?" They apparently thought the world of the idea, if the loud and mostly coherent response was any indication. Rise herself had stayed silent through the whole exchange.
Souji stopped and pulled his coat down from over his head, taking the group in more carefully. Whether they intended to or not, they'd cut him off. The path wasn't very wide between the trees and the rail. He knew he couldn't run, not with Rise still groggy and his own head swimming. And he was beginning to doubt Yuhara and the others were going to let him leave anytime soon.
"C'mon Seta," Yuhara drawled. "Just stay here an' talk to us. You and Risette can keep us company."
"It's raining," Souji replied coldly. "And we're both tired. Now get out of my way."
Yuhara's smile was too fake to set him at ease. "Now that ain't very nice."
Souji tightened his hold on Rise and started moving forward, mind working as fast as it could. He stopped near the bench beside the path when Yuhara and the others closed the noose, cutting off his way forward and backward, beginning to murmur among themselves. He couldn't catch their words, but the jeering and laughs gave him plenty of ideas. The rain soaked through his hair and was beginning to run down his shirt, but it also cooled him off and distracted him from the vertigo and drugged cloudiness edging his vision. "I'm not going to say it again, Yuhara," Souji growled, drawing himself up. "Get out of my way."
"We just wanna chat with Risette, Seta," he insisted lecherously. "Leave her here and we'll make sure she's looked after."
"Not happening."
"We can be pretty convincing," Souji heard from behind him. "What're you gonna do about it?"
They closed in a step more, and Souji glared back. His heart pumped faster, his muscles loosened, and he felt an old, familiar clarity engulf his mind. It was the same cold anger that accompanied him in the TV world, both a weapon and armour. Every sense heightened, from hearing individual raindrops to smelling the heavy musk of humidity and leaves and loam. "I'm probably the last person you want to fight right now," Souji told them. His voice rattled up his throat and grated across the pavement, deeper, darker, filling the hollow cracks inside him and hardening his chest like ice. "Consider this your last warning." Rise cringed with a whimper and held on to him tighter. He wrapped his arms protectively around her before walking to a nearby bench. Ignoring the comments around him, he laid her down gently. This time she let go and hugged her arms around herself, curling up defensively. He stopped, letting the anger twist and curl around any sense of restraint, silencing his mind's protests for the last time before he set his jacket over her carefully and turned to meet the five sets of eyes around him.
Souji wasn't normally a violent person. Until he'd entered the TV world, the closest he'd ever come to a real sword had been a museum display, and the only physical adventures he'd had were the vicarious hero fantasies he'd indulged in when he was a child. Even after Izanagi had awakened and combat became a new after-school club, he'd never entertained the notion of hurting another human being with what he'd learned, with the possible exception of Adachi. He didn't need the attention from the other students, or his parents for that matter, and he could usually talk his way out of things, or just walk away. It took Yosuke and Chie to bring that harder part of himself out on this side of the TV screen, and even then only briefly. By itself, this situation shouldn't have made him ready and even eager for violence. He could shrug off insults and, if need be, disable someone before things got out of hand.
But this was different. The drug in his drink had wreaked havoc on his inhibitions, adding a load to his already-strained mind after the bad few days he'd had. His nightmares, the unrelenting rain, the lack of sleep, what he was seeing in himself and how little he liked it, the fright he'd gotten at the party, and finally the fact that Rise's safety was at stake, all compounded and crashed into his discipline and ground it to splinters. That it was Yuhara leading this pack, he reasoned grimly, became more than a just motivating factor. It was a bonus.
"Who said anything about fighting?" another student asked, tipping to and fro unsteadily.
"I did," Souji replied, now as cold as frozen iron. "You're not touching Rise, and you haven't left yet. Near as I can tell, we can stand here all night and die of a chill, or we can hurry up and get this over with."
"In a rush, Seta?" Yuhara inquired, his own eyes taking on a dangerous glint. "Just be a good little honour student and get lost."
"You really are pathetic Yuhara, you know that? You clearly don't think anything of me, but you can't come here and take me on yourself? You have to harass Rise and fight me with lackeys?"
Yuhara shrugged, not giving an inch. "Whatever works. And I didn't need to ask for help – they wanted you for themselves."
"Why? What did I do to them?"
"Oh, you know. Their girls don't talk to them like they did before you moved here. They hate the captain taking your side on the court. The usual. Lots of people don't like you, Seta. These guys just wanted to say it to your face."
Souji noted the crowd shifting and growing restless. The time for negotiations was over, and there was no need to hold back. "We'll see. Come on."
No invitation was necessary. The first ran in from the side with a wild swing, and had Souji's reflexes been normal, or he himself been as intoxicated as they were, it might have been the start of a horrible night for him and Rise.
But they weren't, and he wasn't. He dodged the first punch faster than they could follow and returned a hard blow of his own, colliding hard with his opponent's jaw. The stranger shouted in pain, but Souji, his blood up, kept coming. He grabbed his opponent's wrist, stopping his stagger backward, and lashed out a kick to the torso that Chie'd drilled into him for near to a year.
It blasted the wind from the stranger and left him gasping, fighting to stay conscious, on the ground in a heap. Souji spun fast, dodging the first blow from the next assailant and taking a heavy hit to the ribs for his trouble before he slipped around another punch and put the second of the five down with an uppercut that left his wrist tingling. He was only starting to breathe hard, his battle awareness singing along every nerve, and stared hard at the remaining three.
They'd had a chance to rush him, but were holding still, unsure looks skimming among them. They'd expected an easy fight, he guessed, and a quick tumble, after which they would do whatever they planned to do with Rise. They weren't prepared for someone with better-than-sober reflexes who could hit like a bullet train. Souji let a frigid grin slip across his face before grabbing one shoulder and snapping his neck sharply to the side, the crack easily heard over the rain.
"Next?" No one moved. "Come on, that's not it, is it?" Even he noticed his voice change. It was deeper. Darker. The very sound of it buffered against any doubt or hesitation. And despite being soaked clean through now, he didn't feel the cold. Or the ache in his ribs. Or anything at all. He heard Rise murmur "Senpai?" behind him, and the word never came close to him. His headache was gone, his mind was clear and vision crystallized into perfect clarity. He could see the others without a problem while the rush of battle pounded through his veins. And he wanted more.
Instead of waiting, he walked into the centre of them, careless and itching to go again.
Rather than waiting or hesitating, his presence either galvanized them or snapped their nerve, because this time they rushed him. Souji lashed a kick at one of them and a backhand to a second, but the second caught his arm and wrenched it behind him, grabbing furiously for his free arm while Yuhara landed a hard punch to his face. And for a moment, the world jarred sharply past Souji's eyes. But they expected someone less used to hard punishment, and he tensed his chest when the kick came, blasting his wind out while he remained conscious and in control.
When the second punch knocked Souji's head to the side, he rolled with momentum, kicking at the first stranger's leg and stopping his push forward. Then he wrenched his arm hard against the stranger behind him, breaking his hold long enough for Souji's elbow to snap up and clip him in the jaw. Not a hard hit, but enough. Souji backpedalled, grabbed onto the stranger's arm, and spun sharply to avoid the next strikes. The reverse in momentum broke the hold on Souji, and he wrapped his arm around the stranger's while kicking him off balance. Then he levered him face first into the pavement with a sharp grunt. The hard impact was impossible to ignore, and the last stranger swore sharply and rushed him. Souji slipped forward, blocking the angry strikes while dodging to the side, keeping Yuhara from getting a clean shot in. Then Souji narrowly avoided the next strike and landed a hard hook, two, and then a sharp kick to the last stranger's stomach, putting him down hard.
Yuhara got in two hits on Souji's back before he spun, clipping Yuhara's knee with a stray kick that stopped him in place. Souji's fists cannoned out, the first blow stopping any forward momentum, the second knocking him back. But Yuhara stayed upright, a snarl on his face. Souji felt the grin split his lips – after all the crap he'd put up with from Yuhara lately, this was positively cathartic. Souji blocked two more hits and landed a hard left to Yuhara's side, then dodged and clipped him with another kick. Yuhara discarded any tactics by then and swung hard. Souji ducked to the side and lunged with a haymaker, all of his weight behind it. The sound impact was a cross between blasted air and a pained groan as he fell to the pavement.
And then it was over. Souji stood unsteadily with his ribs loudly protesting, and every breath that made his face flare up in pain. His knuckles were sore, gone soft from months of his most taxing activities being housework and basketball practice. And the world was spinning more now than when he'd been drugged. But he'd won. Over the groans and soft scrapes of the others crawling away, that fact blared in his ears like a ship's fog horn.
Catching enough of himself to see Yuhara struggling to get back up, he strode over as cold as ever and knelt down to face his schoolmate. Yuhara lashed out, trying to catch him off-balance, but ended up with his wrist in the vice that Souji's hand became. Yuhara tried pulling back or pushing forward to throw Souji off. Nothing.
"Done now?" Souji's voice still hadn't returned to normal, deep and dark as though it had scraped up a well.
"Fuck you," Yuhara spat, pain and anger clear on his face.
Souji replied with a sharp backhand. "Not interested. Are you going to try this again?"
"Pfft. What do you think, pretty boy?"
With his mind as cold as his body was becoming, Souji's reply was to start twisting Yuhara's wrist until the arm began to follow and the prone teen started squirming, trying to relieve the pressure, but was in too much pain to twist any more than he already had. Souji then snaked his free fingers between Yuhara's and pried his fist open, bending the fingers back to the point of pain. "Are you listening?" Souji received a murder-filled glare in return, but no words. So he twisted harder until Yuhara was squirming in place, trying to break free. "Well?" The prone teen finally, grudgingly, nodded. "Good. Yoshiro-kun needs you in one piece. And you wouldn't be much of a star forward with broken fingers, would you?" Yuhara pulled back a little, glancing at his trapped hand. Souji glared and tightened his hold, eliciting a sharp hiss. "There are twenty seven bones in the human hand; I can give you a demonstration."
"No," Yuhara growled, less resisting.
Souji leaned in close, slate-grey eyes dominating Yuhara's vision. "Then if you don't want a repeat performance of tonight, you'll stay away from me. Do whatever you want with those brain-dead idiots, but you try this again, I'll forget how much Yoshiro-kun needs you. Got it?"
No words. Just a shaky nod.
"And the same applies to Rise; don't ever say her name around me again."
Another nod.
Souji released his hold and Yuhara gasped in relief, cradling his strained arm. "Good. Now get out of my sight." Yuhara didn't need to be told twice, and was limping into the rain before Souji turned back to Rise. The battle high was fading, and there was no sense of victory. Relief, certainly, and he had come out of the fight ahead of the others, but there was not thrill, no rich taste of triumph. Monsters in the TV world were one thing, and he didn't doubt what Yuhara and the others would have done to Rise if he hadn't fought them off. But letting loose so willingly, venting on normal people... The thought wasn't a comforting one.
Surrounded by the harsh vacancy of the park and the heavy rain, the squelch of his shoes wasn't enough to break the grim mood on them both. Rise's eyes were clearer than before and she sat up when he approached, about to hand him his coat. Souji shook his head. "You need it more than I do."
"You're soaked," she protested.
"And having a jacket's not going to change that now."
She looked closer at his face, her eyes tracing his bruised cheeks and jaw. "Are you alright?"
The cold rain was sapping any nonchalance he had the energy for, but he tried for it anyway with a shrug. "I've been through worse. I'll live."
She nodded and got off the bench, swallowed whole by his coat and using it as an umbrella.
Talk was subdued as they made their way to Rise's apartment. Souji worked on keeping his chill-induced shivers under control, and Rise's words were short and clipped. There was nothing of the bubbly starlet in her now. The analytical part of his mind, always on no matter how tired or beat up he was, turned this over in its metaphorical hands. Granted, he wasn't expecting her to fawn over him like he was a hero. She'd seen him go through worse with more at stake since they'd met. But now she seemed withdrawn, reluctant to meet his eyes, and standing next to him without so much as a hand on his arm, never mind wrapping herself around it like he was so used to. Yet he didn't know how to broach the topic. Or what he'd say if he did. He'd replayed the events over in his mind and knew, no matter how he wanted to dress it up, that the fight had stopped being about Rise fairly early on. And he didn't like what that said about him.
When they arrived at her apartment, Rise handed his jacket back to him. He slid it back on, wincing at the pull of what was starting to feel like some cracked ribs and his soaked shirt clinging to bruised skin. Rise stood in the doorway, looking at him with an expression he couldn't place, before pulling him down and giving him a short peck on the corner of the mouth. With the rain pulling his mood into the gutters, all he could give was a half-hearted smile in reply. "Thank you," she told him soberly. "For everything, Senpai."
"It's nothing. Are you going to be alright?"
She nodded, holding onto the door frame. "I can see straight now, and my stomach's... well, I'll be okay. I'm sorry you had to get caught up in this."
Souji looked down at her, puzzled. "What?"
"The party. Those creeps. That was my fault."
Souji shook his head, regretting it when the motion made his face burn. "You didn't drug yourself, and neither of us could have guessed Yuhara would've been stupid enough to try that tonight."
"Still, it feels like I-"
"You're wrong, Rise," he said as gently as he could. "Things got out of control and we handled it as best we could. That's life."
She didn't look convinced, but nodded anyway. "Well, call me tomorrow, okay?"
"Sure. Good night."
She nodded and slipped into her apartment, locking it soundly behind her. Souji shook his head and turned toward home, noticing the cold less and less with every step.