Kurama.
I was there; she wasn't alone.
I couldn't rely on the possibility of Koenma contacting me. With the roundabout method, I could arrive to her aid minutes too late. So, I kept a safe distance from Maya, and an even safer distance from the dealership. I kept a close eye on the relaxing teen on the roof, waiting for her compact to go off and signal me to head inside.
It never did.
As the moon began lowering in preparation for the wolf's hour, the girls emerged from the workshop door. I couldn't make out Aiko's face in the darkness, but I noticed was seconds from collapsing, barely holding herself together.
Now, I balanced myself on the ledge of the building near her apartment window as vines trickled off my hand. They filtered into the window pane, searching for the lock to quietly loosen it.
She'd vomited moments after entering her room, waking Minoru who promptly complained in disgust. She continued heaving, and as he headed for their parent's room, she made a run for the bathroom.
And so the night grew loud. Her parents—mainly her father—accused her of partying. I trusted her mother to point out she had more symptoms of sickness than drunkenness.
"Cold and clammy out of nowhere?" he snapped. "What drug did you take?!"
Aiko retched again into the water and Minoru's pleas to sleep with them to escape the soiled room could be heard.
Her father questioned her still, likely with her face shoved deep in the toilet, until he was convinced enough to believe his wife. When the Hojo residence settled down, I stole the moment to lift the window.
Slipping into her room, I quietly took off my shoes after making sure the chyme was cleaned from the floor. With light footsteps, I paused at the door's threshold, making sure her family had settled into the main bedroom.
Her father still grumbled to himself in the dark room, but Minoru's soft snores were reassuring.
A couple steps down the hall, in the lit bathroom, was Aiko. Soft, strained sobs sifted through the empty space her family didn't occupy. I found her resting her head on the toilet seat, and I closed the door softly behind me.
At the small click, she turned her head weakly to me. Her eyes filled with shame, and her face dropped with horror. Another sob, harsher this time, escaped her throat. She turned away from me and jerked forward again. A cloudy, translucent bile spilled from her mouth into the toilet.
I gently took her hair into my hands and pulled it back as she continued crying. Her hand covered her face, and I freed one of my own to rub her back.
Her trembling slowed, but it seemed to travel to her voice instead. "I said to not follow me…"
"I know," I whispered. "I'm sorry."
I wasn't, but she didn't need to hear that. She sniffed once, then twice, before choking back her cries.
I moved to find the toilet paper, and as she curled into my hold, I wiped the night from her face. She gritted her teeth as more sobs slipped through them in spite. She clung to my shirt, nails digging into the fabric and threatening to tear through.
She then pushed me away before lurching to the toilet once more. Now, there was nothing left to expel—she only dry heaved.
"I can still smell it," she whimpered after a solid minute of painful dry heaving. I worried she may actually throw up her stomach lining. "It won't go away."
"What happened in there?" I moved to her side again, pulling her hair away from the seat.
She stared into the murky water for a moment before mumbling. "Hit me."
"Excuse me?"
She looked up to me with red-rimmed eyes. "This is a dream. Hit me."
"This isn't a dream."
"If you don't hit me, I'll find a way to do it myself."
"Aiko, I'm not—!" I caught her by the shoulders as her head was inches from the porcelain bowl and pulled her away.
She began crying loudly as I pulled her to me once more, wrapping my arms around her tight as she struggled. "This has to be a dream."
"It's not a dream," I replied, hushed.
"I—it has to be a nightmare," she sobbed. "I couldn't have actually—I—hic—"
"What happened, Aiko?" I replied again, resting my face against hers so she could hear my whisper.
She slowly stopped struggling, and her hands instead found their way to my arms. She gripped them tight. "I… You'll hate me."
"I won't."
"I did it again—worse. I did something worse." She turned around, as much as my grip would let her, and curled into me. "I—I didn't know what else to do! I made the right decision, right?"
"I'm sure you did."
"I made the right decision, right?" she asked again, before I could reply. She was only sinking deeper into obsession. "I made the right decision, right? I made the right decision—"
"You did," I reassured her, tightening my hold to ground her.
"If I blew my cover—what if I failed—what if it only made things worse?" she flustered. "What if I failed and that keeps happening? I—"
"Aiko, please. Slow down. It will make thinking clearly easier."
"There's nothing to think about!" Words slithered out in a sharp hiss. "I tortured a youkai! I fucking—I pushed him to where he welcomed the death Natsume gave him!"
I expected something of the sort, but not with that ending. Though she didn't kill him, she was part of it. To her, that was the same thing. When I didn't reply fast enough, she obsessed on.
"I made the right choice, right?" she cried. "I did the right thing, right? I did what I had to do, right? I did what I needed to do, right?" She grabbed my sleeves and began shaking me. "Right? I made the right choice, right, Kurama?! I did—"
I held her tighter, feeling her urge to push away and damage herself again. "You made the choice you needed to make, Aiko."
"Was it the right choice?"
"There are no right choices in war, in things like this."
It didn't make sense to her; her grasp on morality was so black and white. It was either right or wrong, and though there was a grey area, it always fell more closely to one than the other. A shade favoring one hue or the other; grey was never just grey. Morality was shades upon shades in monochrome; the world painted in grisaille. But to her, each unique shade fell into another category: one of two.
Black or white. Just or wrong. There was nothing between the two.
"You made the best choice you could, Aiko," I reassured her.
"But it wasn't the best choice for him. He didn't have a choice."
"Sometimes you have to make sacrifices, Aiko. You sacrifice the lives of a few to save many."
"...Is that what you had to do?"
And I realized, just as I had tamed myself, developed a conscious and cared for morality, she juxtaposed my progress. Adaptation to the lives we lived, wanted to live, had to live. I saw in her what I should strive to be, and she me. And I was unsure whether she could evolve without losing herself—the girl I knew.
But I knew she couldn't survive if I gave her rose-tinted lenses. The world would still be monochrome, but then, it would be fake.
"Yes." Sliding one arm under her knees, I scooped her up and carried her to her room.
Setting her on the bottom bunk, I set some clean clothes by her and went to turn off the bathroom light. I took a tad longer than necessary in hopes she'd have changed by the time I returned. Unfortunately, she hadn't moved from her spot.
She was still hunched over, quietly lamenting. I closed the bedroom door behind me and went to her side.
I encouraged her to change out of her clothes; sleeping in vomit would only make things that much worse. She only shook her head—a feeble, pathetic attempt, really, but she managed to.
She moved to lie down, but I stopped her with gentle hands, reminding her quietly that chyme soiled her clothes. I told her I would leave the room so she could change, but she continued staring down at her denim jeans. Her hands lay in her lap motionless.
After a heavy moment, she began trying to lie down again, to which I stopped her once more. Not only was it unsanitary, but if she woke to the smell of vomit and singed skin, it could only make things worse. I reminded her again.
Without even an expression of acknowledgement, her shaking hands moved to the button on her jeans. I would have stood to leave had I not noticed how useless her attempt was. Her mind was shutting down and taking her body along with it.
I knelt again and asked quietly. "Would you like me to help?"
Limp, trembling fingers released the button, but she didn't respond. I treaded carefully, softly telling her my every intention as I worked to unbutton and unzip the pants. The soiled shirt was next. She lifted her arms slightly to let me pull it off—padded, laced undergarments wasn't the style I'd expected of her.
Honestly, I had never thought about what I expected of her—her presence was never erotic. It was always emotional.
Immediately, she tried lying down again, and this time I let her. I debated on pushing her to drink fluids—she'd dehydrated herself, vomiting as much as she had. But I couldn't force liquid down her throat. With a small, resigned sigh, I pulled her jeans off. Setting the soiled clothing in the hamper, I returned to her side at the bed.
It felt wrong to notice her now as she was, and so I pulled the thin sheet over her.
I'd been with many human women before. Each had their own delicacy about them, whether it was a sensitive spot or topic. But her delicacy and sensitivity were different, the kind that grew on one like ivy did on oak. Even with her growth, the traces of fragility lingered still: prominent hipbones, thin fingers, fragile ankles, and spider-web veins along slender wrists.
And out of everyone, she was the most human.
I sat next to her, leaning against the short headrest as she lay with her eyes open. I pulled her matted hair from her face, watching the strands gently plucking off from her damp skin. I let my fingers weave through it to rest.
She never fell asleep, only blinked every so often and cried even more.
Once, I shifted slightly—the mattress moved only a tad—and she grabbed for me. A hollow but firm hand latched onto mine, and I settled next to her in reassurance that I wasn't leaving.
When the crying turned violent, talking soothed her. Her cries of self-loathing turned to muffled obsessions of hyper-morality into my shirt. Whether she understood my replies of "You did the best thing you could" was never clear. Just hearing a voice gave her a sense of reality, and that was all that mattered at the moment.
Grounding her. Reassuring her, unfortunately, that it wasn't a dream. That it was wrong, horrifying, and traumatizing, but that she did what she could. She did what she could, and she would do what she could later to make sure it never happened again, because that's the kind of human she was.
I could forgive her. Koenma could forgive her, Botan could forgive her—Maya, Yukina, Yusuke, Kuwabara, and even Hiei. They would feel a range of emotions with it: disappointment, disgust, pity, apathy… But they could all see why she did it.
But that didn't matter to her. She couldn't forgive herself and the youkai couldn't forgive her.
And he was who mattered—the victim.
Come the break of dawn, she'd finally fallen asleep. Face buried into my shirt, body wrapped in my hold, I wondered how I could leave, without waking her, to avoid her parents finding me.
But out of all the noises in the house—the creaks from the floors, the settling of the walls, the wind against the window pane—the soft opening of her parent's door was what woke her. And though her grip on me tightened, she knew too.
"Later," I reassured. "Once they've left."
There was a heavy beat of silence before she replied hoarsely, quietly. "I want to be alone for a little while."
I debated on arguing, but knew her boundaries were most important.
"After school, then." I nodded, hand smoothing her hair away from her face again.
She grunted in acknowledgment, puffy eyes still lowered to the sheets. I lingered by her side, reluctant, before finally leaving.
Mother never noticed my absence as I passed through the kitchen to greet her good morning. I returned to Aiko's apartment only to feign a normal routine. I reassured her mother there was a stomach flu spreading around the campus, and she sighed in relief. After a small gesture of "take care" that came with the closing front door, the day went by slowly.
Then, when the time came to return to her side, another problem posed itself. A problem I'd worried about since the entire situation with Yomi emerged.
Shuuichi's uncouth demeanor was new and awkward—ill-fitting for the boy, honestly. He was always a timid one, shy and cautious, and courteous of those around him. Even once opened up to those he trusted, he had this quaintness to him that embodied his character.
He was a nice boy, friendly, and eager to listen to one talk.
One would think that if Yomi's men wanted to possess him to use against me, they would do so with more grace and skill. The lackadaisical effort put into this scheme was only the cherry on top of the ordeal.
Or, were they so cocky to think that I wouldn't find a way to harm them just because they took control of his body? I knew many ways to torture a being while keeping them alive. Relying solely on physical torture was tasteless and amateur.
"So, what have you been up to, bro?" The youkai used Shuuichi's vocal cords. "I noticed you weren't home last night."
Honestly, it was an insult to assume I was an amateur.
Maya.
A couple days ago, Yukina and I went into town—small and barely populated as it was—to go grocery shopping. I used my own money to buy some snacks. She took a particular liking to the chocolate-covered mint marshmallows so I bought a bunch of boxes of them for her.
She quickly offered them to Miyuki and Master Genkai when we returned to the compound that day. Though Genkai liked them, she didn't sit with the three of us and eat them. The sun was high in the sky one day as the three of us sat out in the hallway, relaxing and sharing them.
That was the day Aiko showed up. She dressed in her training clothes, meaning she was here to stay for a couple of days.
I hadn't seen or heard from her since she came out of the dealership that night. It reminded me of the last time I witnessed her trauma. But this time, the trauma didn't consume her. The aftermath wasn't an emotionally ruined junior high school girl. No, this time… It seemed she consumed it…
A more refined, hardened stare replaced her usually uninterested expression.
"Hey, hey, hey!" I waved to her from where I sat, smiling wide in hopes of her just being deep in thought.
"My boss will be here soon," was her reply as she walked past us towards one of the common rooms. "So please don't disturb us when he arrives."
"Okay…" I watched her as she entered one of the rooms.
The door shut behind her and Yukina questioned aloud to herself. "Lord Koenma doesn't come here often. It must be important?"
"Maya, didn't you do some kind of stakeout with her a couple days ago?" Miyuki asked. "I'm sure that's what this is about."
I nodded, still staring at the shoji door. "Yeah… I don't know what happened, though. I was just there to make sure she came out alive…"
The words felt strange coming out of my mouth. I knew that was the point of me going; she'd said it, Botan had said it, Genkai'd said it…
"I heard she has a mouth when it comes to Reikai officials, even the Prince," Miyuki said, hushed.
"Yeah…"
I'd once asked her about that, why she talks to him the way she does. I was now paralleling it, connecting it to my worries.
"My friend was the last detective and he disrespected the Prince plenty," she replied. "Besides, it's not like I directly disobey his orders. I may bitch and moan about it, but I do it."
"But he's still, like, your boss, right? It's not like how it was with Masao. Masao had his head shoved so far up his rectum, he was borderline delusional. The Prince doesn't seem like that."
They never liked the way the other went about doing things. The Prince expected results, and Aiko was always second guessing her every move. He expected results months ago, and his patience grew thin over time. The reason he didn't fire her was because he knew she was his best option right now.
She would get results, slow as they may arrive, so he'd use her and let her bring information at her own pace. She never quit because he had power—restricted though it was, it was better than none.
And so, despite their mutual, passive dislike for each other's methods, they were civil.
"He didn't pick me for any reason other than my connections," she replied. "I don't have some deep friendship with him like Yusuke did. He's willing to put my life on the line if it means furthering our agenda."
I paused and thought about it for a second. She said that phrase before, but I didn't exactly take it seriously at the time. I never thought there was a reason to, because obviously she'd never be in a situation where her life was actually threatened… right?
"But... aren't you also willing to put your life on the line?"
"Yeah," she replied. "But if I'm going to go out, I want to go out the way I feel is right. So if I don't like it, I'll argue until he compromises."
I frowned, worried. I knew what she'd gotten into was dangerous, but she always gave off this laid-back atmosphere about it. She made it seem like it was just a regular thing. A chore at most, sometimes. I never worried too much about it.
"Is this something dangerous enough where you may actually end up dead?"
She paused and looked at me before grinning. "No, not really."
I didn't believe her.
Especially not now.
I always knew she was into something dangerous, but my initial reaction to danger was often excitement. Adrenaline. I didn't know just how serious whatever she'd gotten into was until she left the dealership that night. I knew it was dangerous, but I didn't realize the true gravity until I saw her struggling to hold herself up that night.
Not much really bothered her, except for men—especially adult men. She joked about killing herself a lot. Wishing an accident would happen to her so she wouldn't have to put the effort into committing suicide. And though she became irate easily, few things actually upset her. Fewer things upset her to the degree I'd seen—now—only twice.
So, my disbelief grew over the weeks, and I was beginning to worry that she just may… actually end up dead.
"Maya…?"
Miyuki's voice brought me back, and I turned to see her frown and furrowed brows. "Huh?"
"I didn't mean it in a bad way. It's just…. She's a bit unprofessional and all, talking to Reikai officials like she does."
"Oh, yeah." I waved it off. "I know. It's okay."
Miyuki frowned again, worried whether she overstepped a line gossiping about Aiko.
"If I had to ruin a friendship over someone gossiping about Aiko and the petty things, I wouldn't have any friends," I reassured her.
So long as they didn't bring up her appearance, then it was likely fair game. So long as they didn't bring up the train scandal, even with Aiko's involvement unbeknownst to them, it was likely fair game.
If Aiko wanted to stop someone from talking about her, she'd either handle it herself or tell me so.
In our groups awkward silence, soft voices fluttered through the air from the common room, muffled and emotional. I took it upon myself to conceal my ki best I could.
"Hey!" Miyuki hissed at me as I scurried across the hallway to hide behind the closed, sliding door. She appeared next to me then. "Didn't your parents ever teach you that eavesdropping is rude?"
"Shh." I pressed my finger against her lips. Though I wasn't watching her, I knew her eye twitched in irritation. "I'm trying to hear."
The hushed voices slipped out from under the threshold. Though they were hard to make out at first, they eventually seeped into my ears.
"I gave the tape to Hiei." A firm, masculine voice, with an ill-fitting youthful charm, informed her.
"Who the fuck is that?" A familiar tone, strained to withhold the anger pushing against the back of her teeth.
"Hiei. I'm sure Kurama has mentioned him before. I'm sure you've even met him a few times with how often you're with Kurama."
"I'm drawing a blank here."
"Well, anyways," he sighed. "He asked for the tape in exchange for helping us handle Sensui. He wanted to help, but he would never admit to having an ounce of care for anyone but himself."
"…That three foot tall sewer rodent?!" she gasped. "You gave the fucking tape to the prick who wears a trash bag?!"
"Had I returned to it Reikai, it would have been destroyed. I would rather have any evidence alive and well even if it means jumping through hoops to retrieve it."
"Uh, hello? You could have given it to me! Then I wouldn't have to beat around the bush with Kazuma."
"You and I both know that had you watched any of Chapter Black, you would have killed yourself long ago. Even the most barbaric beings can't handle more than a few hours' worth."
Woah, what the…?
"And speaking of Kuwabara," he continued. "Have you made any progress with him picking out faces? You made it clear in the beginning you were convinced the tape was connected to all this."
"You always bring that up to shut me down…" she grumbled. "No, I haven't gotten Kazuma to pick out faces yet. Shizuru does a damn good job intimidating me to tread lightly. But just because I don't have anything on the tape to tie them to this doesn't negate everything I saw—everything I did."
Worry festered in the pit of my stomach, and the acid churned in anticipation.
"The problem is what you saw and did was likely legal. They're war criminals, Aiko. If we have to extract information from them, we do it."
War criminals? We're in a war?
"Not even a minute ago you were in shock that the proposition for this interrogation camp even passed," she snapped, and I waited. I waited for the anger to pour out her mouth in flames. "And, you know what? Regardless of whether this shit is legal, I'm stopping it. Even war criminals don't deserve that."
"You sound like you aren't convinced they are war criminals."
"To them, a war criminal is any youkai who steps foot in this realm that doesn't have a contract."
There was a brief, considering pause. "Okay, well... Did you see their names? Files? Anything at all to help you identify them?"
"Sorry, I was a bit busy skinning the poor guy," she spat, and my face drained cold. "I don't think asking for a name beforehand is proper torture etiquette."
My stomach plunged and my limbs became heavy. No...
"Wh—"
"I didn't exactly think to look for names, okay? Sorry! I was a bit busy trying to stay conscious as I mutilated the guy."
My hand found its way over my mouth. I didn't know what to think. What was there to think?
She was just like the man she hated.
How could she…?
"I wonder why they had you partake," he hummed to himself. "Initiation?"
"She said I couldn't leave alive if I didn't participate."
"Perhaps a silencing tactic."
But she… She knew right from wrong better than anyone. She stuck by her morals, fought to hold them true tooth and nail. How could she…?
"Whatever, it doesn't matter why," she continued. "Can't you pull their files? I'm sure they're public."
"Open cases are removed from the file's room until a verdict is reached. I have no access to open cases unless I'm reviewing them. Especially not open Barrier Regulation and Enforcement cases."
…How could she? She was so remorseful about hurting the last guy! How could she be so... So…
An irritated sigh was followed with: "What about private files?"
"Again, if they're open, I don't have access. Besides, private files are held in Reikai's network, and logging in is required."
"But it wouldn't be suspicious to log in and find old, private cases right?"
So callous! How could she be so callous?! How could she get over it so quickly?!
She joked about things like she didn't do anything!
"I don't have access to Barrier Regulations and Enforcement cases," he replied, a little miffed for having to repeat himself. "Especially if they're private—regardless of their status."
"What the hell do you even do in Reikai then, if you can't do this?"
"Many things," he snapped in a childish, defensive tone. "I share control over many sectors with my father and have plenty under my full control. Barrier Regulations is a sector I do not have control over. My father monitors it thoroughly."
"Like that's not a fucking red flag…" she muttered.
My body moved before I could think. I ignored Miyuki's frantic, protesting hisses, and I reached for the handle. I slid the door open, slamming it against the threshold. I came face to face not with Aiko—but with the Prince.
My rage didn't falter, no. I wouldn't let it.
Where was the fire that threatened to spill from her mouth not even a moment ago? Was it truly because she had to talk to the Prince and argue her case, and not because of what she'd done?
"Who even are you?!" I screamed to the girl, her back turned to me. "You're not the Aiko I know—the Aiko I know would never do that! She would never abuse her power—hurt someone like this. Hurt someone and then walk away from it like it was nothing!"
Pacifier between his lips, the Prince's eyes blinked lazily at me and then shifted his gaze to Aiko.
"I understood you did what you needed to do—when you broke the youkai's spine! I understood what you did, but… you didn't want to! Why?" My voice continued to rise, my face grew hotter, and my eyes stung. "Why don't you care this time? You speak of it like it's nothing! You make sick, sardonic jokes about it!"
She tensed, and her head bowed in shame.
"Have you really become so callous just this second time?!" Warm salt water stung against my cheeks. "How could this be so… so—"
"You think I wanted to fucking do it?!" she screamed, but didn't turn around. Her back stayed towards me, and her head lowered further. "You really think I don't care?!"
I paused, but the fire burned still. "If you cared you wouldn't treat this so… you treat it like it's another thing that just happens, Aiko! And it's not. You know that better than anyone."
The room grew hot, and the tension expanded with the temperature's growth. She didn't reply; she just sat at the table, legs tucked under her on the soft pink pillow.
"Well? Say something, Aiko!" I snapped. "Defend yourself—something! Anything!"
"There's nothing to defend!" She stood, whirled around—all in one fluid motion. She stepped up to me, face shoved into mine. Hot breath coated my skin, red rimmed eyes bored into mine. "I did something horrible! I will live with what I did every day." Her strong, booming voice diminished quickly, turning fragile and guilty. "I'll see his face every time I close my eyes."
"Then why don't you act like it?"
And with the last, desperate breath that followed those words, we stood in silence. We both knew why I was so worried. Scared. Upset.
I was scared I was capable of hurting others too.
Aiko, the girl who was so concerned with justice, with never inflicting the similar pain she once felt on others, was capable of hurting others. She was capable of hurting others and going on with her life. Picking herself up, putting the pieces back together, and moving on.
She, the victim of abuse, was able to inflict the same pain on others and go on with her life.
So what did that say about what I was capable of?
"Because I can't take it back." Her voice grew small, tugging at my heart at pulling me deeper into fear. "I can't undo what I did, Maya. I made my choice, and I have to live with it."
My hands rested upon her bare arms, and I squeezed them, feeling the fear bubble up to my head only to pour out from my eyes. "You made the only choice you could… right?"
Her eyes fell to the floor, and conviction left her. "I… want to think I did…"
"So, what's your next move, Aiko?" I looked behind her to see the Prince.
He stood with proper posture and his hands tucked into his beige slacks' pockets. The raging emotions flooding the room did nothing for him; he still had a job to do.
I looked back to my friend, and with tears pooling in the corner of her eyes, she asked harshly. "What do you want me to do?"
"Well, you want to stop them from doing this any longer. Find out what criminals they're picking up," he replied. He had to agree with her if he was giving her orders. He had to care too. There was no way he couldn't. Whatever else she told him had to be something for him to go off of, because he wouldn't waste his time if it wasn't a lead. "Go down there again and find names and records."
"You can tell me their names. I may recognize them." A new voice—familiar, but never interjected in a conversation. No, she was far too polite to do so.
All eyes flew to the youkai behind Miyuki: Yukina.
"Some names are infamous throughout Makai." A calm voice and sweet smile despite the chill air creeping into the common room. "I could help you discern who would be likely to attack Ningenkai, and who should never have been detained."
Miyuki looked to Yukina. She then sighed with a smile before jabbing her thumb at herself. "Ex-criminal here. I'll be able to help too. Give me some names and Yukina and I can help you out, Aiko."
Aiko's smile of gratitude was fleeting—and I knew exactly why. She didn't deserve their kindness. She couldn't accept it without bloody hands and a guilty conscious. I pulled her close, burying my face in the crevice of her neck. Her arms wrapped around me, lying gently on my back.
Fear still gripped me, lingered behind me ominously, reminding me. If Aiko was capable of something so horrid, then I was too.
Kurama.
Placing spies in my office in Makai was one thing—typical and expected—but a line had been crossed when he sneaked into Ningenkai and used Shuuichi.
His jealousy sprung from the attention Yomi gave me, and his hatred grew from the comment I made upon our first encounter. Being Yomi's right-hand man gave Shachi an identity, and to have it invalidated infuriated him.
I could live with his petty, obstinate remarks during meetings, contradicting my input and reaching for any statement to oppose mine no matter how useless or wrong. It was like a petulant child reacting to its parents' attention to their new sibling. At times it was amusing, and at worst, merely annoying.
But a line had been crossed, and it needed to be known—made an example of.
Like Roto in the ring, Shachi would be made an example of. Yomi's men or not, I would do what I needed to keep my family safe. A message was sent to him when I returned his low-level subordinate's corpse to his doorstep.
But Shachi, petulant and daft as he was, would only take it as an invitation to deal with me himself. As I hoped he would.
Ironic it was, that I would have to resort to this in order to keep the mundane life I wanted. Ever since the dark tournament, I often felt myself itching for moments like this—a reason to utilize my power. It was a pleasant reminder of the status and strength I used to have. That I could still have.
But I would trade all the opportunities to utilize my power if it meant I could live this life through with the people I cared about. I would continue to live for as long as I wanted—as long as I could until death finally outsmarted me—and I would have opportunities and more to play this game of power and control.
I only had so long to cherish this life and the people in it, and I wouldn't let it be cut short by a hot-headed, arrogant boy with a title that meant short of nothing in this silent standoff of a war.
The only reason I continued the mind games, subjected him to paranoia of wondering when I'd strike—how I'd strike—was because a point needed to be made.
Yomi's men or not—Yomi himself or not—my loyalty would vanish once betrayed. Shachi would be the example, the sacrifice, to ensure nobody else would think to follow in his footsteps.
It wasn't the right thing to do—it was just what needed to be done to ensure it would never happen again.
After all, there was no right choice in war.
Aiko.
A heavy cello tune, accompanied with a light violin melody, fluttered into my ears. I awoke slowly, cold with a heavy head, puffy eyes, and an otherwise encompassing numbness. I took in the ceiling above me; it didn't register as familiar.
The music continued, but I couldn't place the ceiling. Where was I? Who was playing… playing… Ah…
Pachelbel's Canon in D. Nurse Misato's favorite, I noted, closing my eyes. She would play music to cover the sound of the heart monitor when I wanted to sleep.
…A dream? Was I still in junior high? All of that, huh? A dream…
Misato must be working tonight because the CD player is still going, I noted as my hand relaxed. The tips of my fingers brushed against the ground and stiffened at the chilly temperature.
I wasn't in bed.
Clenching my hand weakly, I didn't feel the unnerving presence of my muscles wrapping around a needle shoved in my skin at the tip of my forearm. I didn't have the disgusting, invasive sensation of the feeding tube shoved in my nostril.
I wasn't in junior high. I wasn't in the hospital still.
Turning my head not even an inch to the side, I realized I was with Natsume et al. The brunette sat at the desk giggling to herself every few seconds while Fukui stood near the exit, staring at the door to the… door to the…?
With much effort, I rolled over and propped myself up on my elbow as I tried to remember where I was and why.
I went with them to the basement of the workshop to see… to see… I blinked again, consciousness washing over me, and in that brief flicker of darkness I remembered. I remembered what I wanted to forget. The image was brief, but clear. It would always be burned in my memories, permanently scorched into all the weaving neurons in my brain. My stomach churned, my throat convulsed, and my body lurched forward.
"Ah, shit," Natsume grumbled in reply to my croaking dry heaving.
She quickly kicked the little trash can by the desk my way, and I grabbed it in time. Dunking my head in, I spewed my now liquid-chunky dinner into the bin.
"I didn't think I'd have to tell you not to eat before you came," she sighed, resting her arm on the table and head in her hand as she watched me retch into the trash. "You're usually good about doing that on your own."
Fuck you.
"I'm proud, though," she laughed. "You did great, especially for your first time."
With heavy breathes, I tried pulling my head out of putrid smelling can. "Even though I passed out?"
"Yeah," she replied simply. "Not everyone's born able to handle this. You're taught it. I mean, I grew up watching the Dark Tournament, so I got used to this real quick."
Among the heavy breaths, trying to settle my stomach, I caught a whiff of something I should never have been familiar with: the scent of scorched skin. I lurched forward again, convulsing in pain as more liquid stung the back of my throat and bridge of my nose.
With weak arms, I pushed the bin away and wiped my mouth. Smearing the residue on my hand on the ground next to me, I looked to Fukui. I noted her clothes were painted with blood.
"She... got used to it quick, too?" I asked, steadying my breathing.
Fukui's dead-eyed gaze drifted to me, but she didn't respond.
"She took about a year," Natsume mused. "Ami took a little under a year. We all developed ways to desensitize." She looked to the window again. "It becomes normal, doing it so much. You find new ways to make it exciting, or at least not a chore. And then you desensitize further." Her voice quieted, calmed. "Until it's nothing more than natural."
I managed to push myself up, and on shaking legs, I wobbled to the desk. Putting my weight on it, I looked through the window despite knowing what I'd find would be horrible. For some reason, I was still surprised.
"It'll take a while. We all vomited in the beginning, too," Natsume reassured. "It's often just the smell that gets you, but I guess if you have a weak stomach you'll take a while longer."
Blonde hair tucked up into a high ponytail, Hayashi adorned a surgical mask. I looked to what used to be the chair—which was again an operating table. I knew the youkai was screaming, but I couldn't hear him. He was jerking wildly under the talisman-laced restraints, clenching his hands and toes in pain.
Her gloved hands glided over his face gently, and then she removed one to pick up a clean scalpel on the tray next to her. With a swift swipe, she pulled out two balls the size of her palm.
Natsume knocked on the glass and began waving to her. With her other hand, she pointed at me.
Hayashi's pretty eyes lit up and then—noticeably under the mask—she smiled. She waved back to me with a bloody, chunky, latex gloved hand, and then brought the large eyes up to cover her own. Eerie, with a demented sense of humor, she cocked her head to the side, and I could see her cheeks push up behind her mask as she laughed.
The large, violet scleras held bright yellow irises, and the optic nerves dangled loosely in defeat.
My ears started ringing.
"I never would have thought to use them as surgical practice. Cadavers have nothing on a moving patient." Natsume's voice was quieting, running far, far away. Her voice echoed from the other end of a tunnel. "She's going to make a great surgeon."
My vision clouded over; my stomach churned again. Dizzy, I felt my more stomach acid crawling up my throat as my legs gave out. Darkness gripped me again.