Chapter 5: Cutting Vegetables And Cutting People Require About The Same Effort
There were moments in every person's life that they could never seem to erase no matter how they tried, things big or small that caused them to realize nothing could ever be quite the same again. Ikumatsu was far from oblivious to this; she'd had quite a few of these already. Enough of them, even, that she wanted to think she'd reached the limit and there couldn't possibly be any more.
If only life worked that way.
She'd only left the shop for a moment that evening to pick up a few leeks from the market down the street; she returned to see she'd left the door unlocked and slightly ajar in her absentmindedness.
The private laugh she allowed herself at this small mishap was interrupted by a much larger disturbance from the other side of the door – a clattering, a terrified cry, a thud.
Ikumatsu threw the door open, only to freeze again, her grocery bag falling to the ground.
In the middle of the shop stood a familiar headphone-wearing man, holding a sword and standing over a squirming, bloody mass that was vaguely recognizable as an Amanto of some sort. Even as she watched, he drove the blade deeply into it.
And then he seemed to flinch, turning to look at her – a split-second later, he smiled brightly. "Ah, there you are, Ikumatsu-dono! I'd been looking for you..." Distractedly, he twisted the sword and pulled it out; his victim fell still. "What impeccable timing, too."
Such a striking way of greeting her, it almost screamed, 'hey baby, you're next.'
She remained where she stood, eyes and mouth wide open.
Trying to make sense of the situation, to stop and think at all, would be futile. There were lives at stake here, and not only that – even if she did survive this, it would doubtlessly lead to an international incident and she herself would be under suspicion of harbouring not one but multiple criminals.
That wasn't what she asked for, and she'd be damned if she ever let that happen to her.
Returning to her senses, or as much as she could, she narrowed her eyes. "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?!"
"My job," the man replied evenly, "what does it look like?"
Even now, nothing about him had changed. He'd somehow managed to avoid getting any blood on his coat, his hair was unnaturally ridiculous as always, he was even wearing the same sunglasses indoors – had she really expected any difference in his demeanour, either?
She sighed, picking up her bag and locking the door behind her before approaching the counter, avoiding the murderer and his victim. As though pretending nothing was out of the ordinary would make it not have happened. She reached the kitchen, finding three pots had been knocked onto the floor. Along with several stools at the crime scene – just how much of a mess was he determined to make?
She could start with the smallest issue; it'd be easier on her nerves. "Those pots were expensive. I suggest you pick them up and put them in the sink."
He blatantly disregarded this, instead taking a seat in his usual spot. With a little smile, he pulled a stained handkerchief from his pocket and began wiping the blood from his sword. "And I suggest you give me a minute's running start and then call the police. Tell them you returned to your shop to find this had transpired and urge them to investigate immediately."
She scowled; he continued as if this were a perfectly normal day for him, "But I get the impression that isn't going to happen, either."
He examined the now mostly-clean sword, then slid it inside that shamisen he carried – that was the reason for it all along?! – and stood slowly, giving her a strange look. "Is that all? No panicking, or accusations, or asking who this Amanto was, or assuming I am going to have to kill you now as well? Impressive."
"Never mind that. I know perfectly well what you've done here." Did she, really? Despite all the thoughts that had already occurred to her, she was still numb to the full impact of it.
"Ikumatsu-dono, I do apologize, but I simply had to seize the opportunity when it arose. But there is a positive side: it was a most convenient way of ridding ourselves of one more Amanto threat–" his voice took on a darker tone, "–as well as a reminder to you of what exactly you have involved yourself with."
"Are you mocking me?" She laughed, mostly at herself; that question wasn't even necessary. "I don't give a damn why you did this or whose body that is on the floor. If you don't get that out of here–"
A horrified shudder passed through her as a distinct realization struck.
...I'll make sure you'll be joining this corpse.
The temptation was great. Her heart was pounding, her head was spinning – she wanted nothing more than to kill this man, to spill his blood across the floor of the shop, to make this a permanent and ironic lesson in the dangers of toying with lives.
But if she did that, she'd be no better than him or any of the others. Just as she would tell him of his own murders, one death wouldn't set anything right.
She snapped back slightly, becoming aware of herself. And of him, looking at her with either concern or interest, his head tilted. It was that little detail, his still having the nerve to act only mildly irritating when she was about to fall apart, that made her able to speak again.
"–who knows what they'll do to us," she finished, setting the bag of leeks down on the counter at last. She carefully averted her gaze, staring at the counter to avoid anything that would worsen the rising feeling of nausea. The air in the shop felt rank and foul; the body was only a small part of it. "Sir, I have long passed the point of being afraid. If you're going to make a getaway, you'd best escape through the upstairs. And if you must take my life, so be it. Just remember who you're dealing with."
"Who I'm dealing with, hmm? And who exactly might I be dealing with? Do tell." Any pretence of being apologetic or in any way reserved dropped immediately from his voice; there was now an emphasis on each word that didn't seem connected to any sort of emotion. "A bleeding heart, a pacifist more due to circumstance than choice, split halfway between avoiding contact with others and throwing herself at every new person she meets – is this who I am supposed to be concerned to know I'm dealing with? I have offered you an excellent chance to rid yourself of me, but you have yet to take it."
His words cut deep; he'd be hard-pressed to sink that sword in deeper. But she pretended to brush it off, turning her back and placing the leeks on the cutting board. "Getting rid of you won't change anything. If one falls, two more rise to take his place, isn't that how it goes?"
"I must agree with you there. It is a simple matter to kill a person, but impossible to entirely erase what they represent. Just as the Joui's attempt to expel the Amanto is futile. As is your wish to carry on free of strife in this world. Still we persist. I must say, though..." His tone was uneven, animated with what must have been suppressed laughter. "You have not exactly been associating with the kinds of people that will help to make that goal any more attainable."
She whirled to face him again, but her angry retort died on her lips; she felt as though she might be sick if she dared open her mouth. The mocking smirk the murderer wore slowly stretched into a wide, vicious grin.
"Oh, is that who I am dealing with? Your ineffectual terrorist heartthrob? Perhaps that is somewhat more of a threat, but I fail to see what good he is doing you here."
That was it – if ever there was a nerve that shouldn't have been hit, this man had taken a violent stab at it. He'd left the line far behind him, and Ikumatsu wasn't about to wait and see how much further it was possible for him to go.
This had to end.
He had to end.
She felt the motion of her body lunging toward him, as close as she could get with the counter still between them, moving of its accord with complete disregard for logic. The shrill shrieking that escaped her seemed to do so on its own as well. "Leave him out of this! I'm a pacifist, am I? I'll fucking kill you, how's that for being a pacifist?!"
There was a loud crash as she threw one of the pots that had fallen onto the floor in his general direction; he didn't even have to move to avoid it, but at least it wiped that grin off his face.
She tried again, making certain to aim better, only to find this throw was even more erratic than the first; the pot struck the wall and rolled halfway back.
"W-why... why. He m-means nothing... t-to me. I'm not..."
It was stupid, some part of her knew that. But at the same time... in her attempt to avoid looking directly at the murderer, she found her gaze drawn to the corpse. This was the most detailed look she'd taken – a terrible mistake. Who it had been or what he'd done that would lead this man to kill him was of no importance; it was enough to know that only minutes ago this was a living, breathing Amanto of some sort, who was now lying on the floor in a pool of blood. Someone who'd had a future, for better or for worse, some sort of goal which was no longer possible. Who'd doubtlessly left behind loved ones, or at the least coworkers, who could try all they wanted to honour his memory but could never get him back.
It served as a sobering reminder of what this man, this murderer whom she'd repeatedly let into her shop despite claiming to know better, had done. And of what he would continue to do, despite being fully aware of the consequences.
But what if, what if, she did take matters into her own hands? This wasn't the first time she'd considered it. Someone had to. It would be useless to think she could rid the world of the Joui, and nothing more than a delusion to think anything would change even if she did, but...
"I'm not going to..."
This wasn't about the bigger picture. This was about the man standing right there in front of her. He had proven already that there was no use in trying to talk sense into him, nor in staying calm and hoping he'd go away. Forget being a level-headed, law-abiding citizen – if the terrorists could find a reason, then so could she, a thousand times over.
–kill you.
She gave in to those wrathful, irrational instincts she had so long suppressed; time and space blurred together and she could hardly tell where she was going as she stumbled around the kitchen, digging through the cupboards, scrambling to find something – anything – she could use as a weapon. Pots, dishes, utensils – she threw them all in his direction, finding before long that it didn't matter whether or not a single projectile hit him. She simply reveled in the noise each object made as it struck its destination, wall or floor or otherwise.
In the same way, she screamed more to let the near-unintelligible words escape than out of any sort of belief it would have an effect: "What the hell is your problem? I don't care what you're planning, but I'll be damned if you ever lay a finger on him! Just get out of here, and never come back! Clean up that mess, you're disgusting. Commit seppuku, or I'll do it for you!"
She hadn't noticed when she'd started crying, but she realized it now – her shaking hands and tear-blurred eyes didn't slow her down one bit. The only thing that could stop her was running out of things to throw.
There was a drawn-out silence on the man's part; if anything, he seemed intrigued by this. When at last he spoke, it was in an appallingly calm voice. "Ikumatsu-dono... if you believe your actions frighten me, you shall have to think again. At the very least, you could come up with some more original insults. Have you any idea how tiresome it is to be told those same things every time?" He laughed in his sinister, joyless way. "Perhaps I have been going about this the wrong way; I am most curious as to what it is you intend to do, should I bring 'him' into-"
"Don't you dare!"
Ikumatsu grabbed the knife she'd intended to cut up the leeks with – but as the man's words made her pause to half-listen, she tucked it inside her sleeve instead of throwing it as she'd been about to. At the same time, she tossed a bowl with her other hand.
It smashed almost immediately, before it could possibly have hit the floor, with a noise that seemed distinctly as though it had collided with something metal.
His voice was closer, sounding thoughtful now. "Such a lively tune you play... you have much potential, and it would be a shame for it to remain untapped. Though I daresay that may be for the best."
Before she could figure out what he was going on about, she felt a burst of air pass by and the faintest stinging on her arm. She froze, dumbfounded, the world regaining its usual clarity. His sword had torn through the sleeve of her shirt, barely grazing the skin beneath.
A clever feint, indeed. Or was it a challenge?
Whether he'd run around the counter or simply jumped over it she wasn't sure, but he was in the kitchen now, preparing himself to strike again.
Ikumatsu wasn't buying his bullshit. He could have run that blade right through her from the start and there would be nothing left to say. It infuriated her that he would spare her life, as if she was worth less than the scum he so casually cut down.
"Quit messing with me," she said as she looked him in the eyes – or at least cast a glare at where she knew his eyes were – her grip still tight on the concealed knife. "You could very well have killed me there, so what gives? Why didn't you?!" Her statements began in a quiet tone, but she soon lost control of her voice once more.
"I have never been one for doing things the easy way," he replied evenly. If he was trying to give the impression he'd never considered it, he failed.
"What the hell?!" She took a step closer, screaming again now. "You're a failure, is that it? Can't even bring yourself to kill someone like me. Weak! You wouldn't dare to touch him, either. Coward!"
With that last accusation – taunt? – still on her tongue, she thrust herself perilously close to the man, flipping the knife out of her sleeve and holding it unsteadily inches from his throat.
Her voice dropped to a whisper, quivering slightly: "Move any closer and you'll find this lodged in your throat. Then you won't find any need to drag anyone into– whatever the hell you're trying to do." She let an almost nervous chuckle slip, then her mouth stretched into a trembling smirk. "It would be a shame if all of your effort went to waste here, in this boring little ramen shop."
For a moment the man scowled, shifting subtly into a more offensive stance, but he appeared no more fazed by this threat than by any other show of violence she had made so far. Then he raised his eyebrows, too non-aggressive an expression for the situation. She'd really do it, she was in a perfect position to kill him... her hand shook harder as she tried to move the knife closer.
You've never killed a person before, was what that look he gave her said. As though that was a bad thing!
"You believe I have been trying unsuccessfully to take your life this entire time, and could never work up the strength?" he asked. "Should your assumption prove wrong, you are taking a terrible risk."
Sure, he could say that, but he still made no sudden movements. All talk, that's what she'd always said the terrorists were...
"You underestimate me, Ikumatsu-dono." The man's voice cut across her thoughts before she could string them into more accusations – and then he took a great step backward, out of her reach. In the same motion, he raised his sword so the tip rested so lightly against her neck that she could hardly feel it there. "On several counts."
Ikumatsu inhaled sharply, but she refused to be intimidated by this; she stood firm.
"Have you nothing more to say?" The blade and the hand holding it remained perfectly steady; a malicious smirk appeared on his face, putting the faltering one she still wore to shame. "Go ahead, make your move. I am giving you a chance. Certainly one so noble and upstanding as yourself can deal with such a lowly extremist. Or am I mistaken?"
His voice grew soft, almost gentle; a horrific sort of dissonance. "Could it be that even after all this, your hatred and determination were only an act? You chose to oppose me with all your being because the alternative was too dreadful to bear?" The smirk widened into a sneer; he couldn't keep the mocking note out of his words any longer. "I have heard enough bitterness and self-loathing to recognize it; there is no need to cover it up. You chose to blame yourself for something in the past, did you not? And then when the pain became too much, you instead turned on the group of which only a few were responsible. Until now, I have not done a single thing with the intent to harm you, and yet you viewed me with suspicion from the start."
There was a cold, prickling feeling against her throat now, but she hardly felt it. Her heart beat quickly in response to both the danger and the words the man had to say; her eyes were locked on what little she could glimpse of his. Something in the way he looked at her was different from what his taunts suggested, but what feeling she saw there was impossible to recognize, clearly twisted beyond anything she could relate to. Not sympathy, not admiration, but nonetheless a different opinion toward the flaws he pointed out...
As quickly as she could wonder about it, it vanished; his gaze grew steely.
"But in the end, first impressions are more accurate than one might like to believe. Who would I be to prove you wrong? Fight me, if you'd like. Avenge your husband; defend your friends! If that is what you believe you'd be achieving."
I wouldn't believe that for a minute. It may have been true that she'd chosen to antagonize him, but there was no way she would let him tell her what she felt. She had enough criticisms of her own to let this man's commentary add to the pile. She glanced between the man and his blade, and down at the simple kitchen knife she had armed herself with, and a flash of red caught her eye – she hadn't felt herself bleeding, but sure enough a thin trickle of blood was running down her neck, staining her shirt. Her instinct told her to back away, but still she held her ground.
"Don't make me laugh," she said, and truly did have to stifle a giggle. "You think I have friends, that I'd be trying to protect anyone? Myself, even? Call me out on my self-loathing all you want, I won't stop you." She pulled her head back slightly, sidestepping away from the sword, shifting her weight. "What I'm fighting for isn't revenge, or those important people you seem to think I have."
There was no room for hesitation. Letting the stubborn conviction behind these words fuel her, she ran at him, swinging the knife clumsily.
He blocked the blow with his sword, but looked almost impressed; she struck again without pausing and he matched her. Of course he could predict her moves, what was she trying to... without even thinking about what she was doing, she charged again, seeking to sink the knife into whatever part of him she could reach – and with her free hand, she threw a punch, which she felt was more likely to catch him off-guard.
The man was still too quick; he dodged both of these moves just in time, letting out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a laugh.
He gave away his surprise by taking the offensive, and she was scarcely able to avoid being cut. There wasn't that much room in the kitchen, one of them would end up hitting something soon enough... the thought barely registered; more important was the fact that she was already struggling to catch her breath. She'd been lucky so far, or else he wasn't trying all that hard. It was far from an even match, and her hopes of killing him were replaced by a need to at least survive a little longer. She had to find a way to disable him, and fast.
The quickest way would be to disarm him, right? And just as she let her racing mind focus on that, she saw what she could do – she dodged a strike by dashing in dangerously close, slicing across his right arm. That could make him drop the weapon, that would–
Most of the blow's momentum was lost in trying to rip through his coat, and it wasn't nearly a big enough cut or in the right place to cause the damage she needed to do, but she felt the knife cut through flesh nonetheless. It filled her not with the thrill she'd expected but a cold, heavy dread. "Please," she hissed, half angry and half fearful, "I gave you an opportunity to leave. Why are you still here? Why don't you go?"
He didn't flinch, nor did his grip on his weapon slip even slightly, but he remained still. "Why don't I go..." he repeated the question slowly as though it were a foreign concept to him, examining the blood beginning to spill from his wound. "The answer is quite simple, and that you have not guessed it yet is rather uncharacteristic."
The sword flashed toward her so fast she hardly saw it – proving he was just toying with her before – but it only struck loudly against the knife, knocking it out of her hand. Ikumatsu's eyes widened and she took a step back, though she knew she couldn't give up so easily. She just needed a new plan; her eyes darted about, desperately searching for anything to buy her more time.
The man followed her, but rather than finish her off now he angled the blade away to step in close. Too close, considering Ikumatsu was unarmed. A strange sort of insistence tugged at his voice as he said, "I could not bring myself to leave. I am weak, perhaps, as you said; however I struggled to fight it, your song has me in thrall. My only wish is to hear more of it."
She wasn't sure how he expected her to respond to this; as it was, she only retreated further. She had an idea for how to get rid of him now, she only had to–
Her foot caught on something and she lost her balance, stumbling backwards into the counter behind her. The back of her head slammed against it; pain radiated from that point, causing the room to rock about her, blurred. How foolish of her, she ought to look where she walked next time... as she regained her footing, swaying, she spotted what she'd tripped over: a pot, which lay haphazardly on the floor. Why was it there?
The enemy here was not to be forgotten. She took a staggering step toward the indistinct shape of the man, but her vision grew dim and she fell to the floor. Some part of her was indignant, terrified – she had to keep fighting, or she'd die! But mostly she felt only vaguely disappointed that he hadn't caught her that time.
Ikumatsu could only imagine the assassin staring down at her with that faintly concerned look he tended to give her, as if he wasn't the reason she'd had this breakdown in the first place. As if he wasn't about to kill her.
Was he about to kill her? She'd accepted that as the only motivation he could be acting on, but hitting her head had either clarified matters or further muddled her understanding.
It took a moment to get her voice to work, and she still couldn't be certain it was actually audible: "I have no clue what you're talking about with your songs, but it seems I've failed you..."
How pathetic it was, that she'd managed to defeat herself.
And how curious that the last thing she remembered hearing was him pacing back and forth near her head for a moment, then telling her: "You've won, Ikumatsu-dono. I did not intend for this to get so far out of hand... somehow I doubt I should be welcomed back here...?"
Author's Notes: I apologize for deceiving you so far about how this fic would go. Just kidding, play some kinda theme music and roll the title BANMATSU: THE ULTIMATE HATESHIP. This was a thread from August 2013, which was when I finally decided what kind of Bansai I wanted to write, people took an interest in that, and we all knew we were doomed to go down with this terrible ship. Welcome to our reality.
In terms of changes this chapter... I made a lot, but it was all in the interest of streamlining the plot and putting emphasis where it was important. Well, and a bit of the effect I was trying to do in the original but didn't manage to pull off in RP format, only controlling one character. The dialogue is mostly the same as it was in the original. I did a lot of playing with moral ambiguity and implications here, and you bet we'll be touching on what exactly happened more later. Next chapter is going to have some explanation for what went on between this incident and a new uneasy status quo being set up, since that was completely skipped over in the RP shenanigans.
And to our dear reviewer Sobaluver69: Balmunk Fezarion is much cooler than Isaac Schneider anyway so I can't say I'm all that bothered.