a/n: i did say i'd be tempted to post the next chapter haha ^^
Part Two
CONCORD
He wakes up drowning.
At first, he's floating, supported by the buoyancy of comfort, dreams, and sleep. It's like moving in gelatin—he doesn't have a watch, not like he needs it with the absence of his sense of time and the fact that time itself is motionless, desperate to keep itself a young and fixed vessel. Everything seems to take a long walk to forever. He moves, and there's an ebbing current that pulls him rather than contradicts his intentions of plowing forward.
It's all very fluid, until Furihata opens his eyes and inhales.
Bubbles.
Cold.
Air.
He—can't—breathe.
It eventually progresses into a struggle between Furihata and the water which doesn't feel like water at all. Furihata kicks his feet to search for the surface and winces when he hits a rock. His lungs are filling up fast. He can't see anything but darkness.
His memories zero in on the third grade of school, during which he briefly participated in swimming lessons. Hold your breath, don't look back, carve into the water. Don't be frantic. You'll get out of there soon.
The moment Furihata breaks out of the peculiar water, he breathes, long and deep, until he can feel the choking catching up with him. He sputters water and falls right back, but is surprised when he's met with the bottom of the shallow pond. There's gravel underneath him, tracing jagged patterns along his soaked clothes.
Furihata blinks once, twice. His teeth are chattering from being submerged for too long. When he orients himself with his surroundings, the first thing he considers is his attire. Before he…died, he remembered wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. Furihata frowns at his state of dress; he's clad in a metallic garment with plates on his chest. No wonder it took him a lot of effort to resurface.
He notices that there's something jabbing him in his side, and he realizes that it's a long iron blade, similar to the ones in the online games he used to play. Whatever it is, it certainly looked dangerous.
I'm supposed to be dead, Furihata thinks, widening his eyes. Maybe there is an after.
"That's called a sword, what's strapped to your waist."
Furihata gasps audibly and coughs to cover his slip. He turns towards the source of the voice, but only shadows greet him hello. He listens to the small tides and attempts to stand up. It proves to be a difficult task, and he nearly pitches forward and lands on his face when he finds that his getup is too heavy.
"And that's an armor," the voice murmurs passively, causing Furihata to jolt. "Museums of today don't feature armors anymore, but they've protected warriors in battle long before your time."
Furihata shivers as goosebumps run through his spine. "W-who are you? Where am I?"
The shadows dance around him, passing through his very fiber like holograms. They are cold, so cold. "I am the Necromancer. You are in the Upper World, though only at the gates."
"The gates?" Furihata, dumbfounded, gazes blindly at the lingering darkness. "I don't see any gates. Where am I supposed to go?"
The Necromancer sighs softly. "Walk with me for a while. I will show you the way."
"…I don't see you, either."
"I'm right here," a voice brushes Furihata's ear, and the brunet turns around and yelps at the sight of a boy. Staring right back at him are blank, powder blue irises. The boy—the one who claims to be the Necromancer—blinks and purses his mouth. He's noticeably thin even through his black oversized garments, and his skin appears to be pallid. The light seems to come from the Necromancer, because when Furihata tries to look away, he can see nothing but a dark void.
"You're," Furihata tests the word on his tongue and steps back cautiously, hearing the water swish around his boot-clad feet. "Young."
The Necromancer's expression softens with something akin to resignation. "Believe me, Furihata-kun, I've been here for far too long."
Furihata takes the Necromancer's appearance in contemplation and begins to walk when the Necromancer does. The water continues to whisk against their ankles, and Furihata follows quietly.
The Necromancer, without looking back at Furihata, says as a matter of fact, "You have questions for me."
"Too many for my liking," Furihata affirms, reaching inside his armor to scratch at a particularly itchy patch of skin. "But I was wondering if you knew about my world—if you've seen what happened."
"Yes," the Necromancer replies tersely. "You're asking me if everything has become stable."
Furihata stops in his tracks for a moment before deciding to trudge again. "I—Yes. I was wondering if the people are okay. If they're safe now."
"Relatively, yes," says the Necromancer, who continues to walk on an invisible path towards the nothingness.
"What do you mean by 'relatively'?"
"Humans," the Necromancer starts, his tone devoid of any emotion, "are only as 'okay' as they make themselves out to be. You've saved their world. But I can't say for certain that they've saved themselves."
"Oh."
The Necromancer halts his steps and opens a door that, if Furihata's perceptive skills are above average and he guessed right, wasn't previously there. The light from the Upper World is blinding yet inviting, familiarly warm yet distantly cold.
"But I believe that humans can change," the Necromancer says in fondness. "I hope that they will."
Furihata crosses his arms thoughtfully in spite of the iron plates digging into his arms and sides. "…Aren't you human? I mean—it's a stupid question, but—"
The Necromancer gently pushes him towards the door, his fingers leaving traces of ice along Furihata's skin. Furihata flinches.
"Farewell, Furihata-kun," the Necromancer tells him, his body slowly vanishing and melting into the nameless umbrages that surround him. His voice also becomes fainter. "We will meet again when somebody calls for you."
"What—"
The door closes behind him and he filters the light with his wrist, squinting to overcome the temporary blindness. When he's finally regained his senses, he looks back, only to be greeted by an entirely different landscape—it's a meadow of greens, yellows, and blues, stretching across the horizon like the highway of eternity. The breeze rustles through the land. There are chirps from little creatures that Furihata has never seen before, and he opens his mouth to take in the foreign view.
"Wow," Furihata exhales out of sheer amazement. So many things are moving, and they all look so real in comparison with the AIs that roam the Lower World.
He starts walking to find a civilization, if ever one existed. Furihata keeps turning his head to imprint every detail into his mind—there's the tiny green objects on the ground, poking his boots; there's the river glistening under the glare of the sun; there's the unknown critters that sing high-pitched melodies; there's the patches of a variety of colors swaying along with the wind. Furihata doesn't know what to call them, but he does know that the afterlife is nothing compared to what he imagined it would be. It's far more breathtaking than any place he's ever traveled to.
By estimation, Furihata has walked two miles before he realizes that he is neither hungry nor thirsty. Exhaustion is a stranger to his body; he doesn't feel so human now, doesn't feel so brittle. If humans are invincible, then he is feeling much more than that.
For the first time, he truly feels as if he is alive.
The view of huge fortifications looms overhead, signifying Furihata's chance at finding a city. He runs, relieved that the wind is pushing him in the right direction, and raises his arms like his plane's soaring wings. The new freedom ripples through his fingertips in an inundation. He allows himself to be unrestrained, to be a child—if only for a little while.
Furihata pants a little when he arrives in front of the towering walls constructed out of sturdy material that he's never encountered before. Tentatively, he brushes his fingers along the coarse surface of the barrier and wonders how the inhabitants of the Upper World have compacted the blocks.
Everything is so solid here—there are no holograms sneaking their way past his bones or glass sliding under his skin ever so smoothly. The surfaces aren't perfect, and the infrastructure isn't as sleek as those in the Lower World.
"Oi," a tan-skinned stranger calls him out with a drawl, drawing his attention. Furihata's shoulders hike up in astonishment. The stranger, clothed in a closely-fitting black v-necked shirt and equally tight bottoms, cracks his neck, baring his fangs and scratching around his pointy ears. "Hm, I bet you're a new one around here. Can't exactly say that normal people go around being fascinated by regular bricks."
"Dai—Aomine-kun, your mouth," a girl chimes in in a reprimanding tone, popping in from behind the male who looks ferocious yet lackadaisical at the same time. The girl, with long locks and bright eyes dyed in pink, turns toward Furihata and bows sincerely, her robes speckled with gold brushing her knees. She has a bound object of some sort in her grasp. "Please excuse Aomine-kun and his manners—or the lack of them."
The one called Aomine shrugs and later hisses when the pink-haired girl grabs his tail—a tail, Furihata thinks, aghast—out of the blue. The girl continues, "I'm Momoi Satsuki, by the way."
"F-Furihata Kouki," the brunet holds his hand out, sensing the spread of the reddening on his cheeks. Aomine must have noticed it, too, from the way he fixes his predatory glare on Furihata. The latter freezes in place. "I…It's a pleasure to meet you, Momoi-san."
Momoi grins at him, tucks a tuft of hair behind her left ear, and shakes Furihata's hand. When Aomine groans at the gesture, she tightens her grip on the end of his pointed tail and pouts. "Aomine-kun, you don't have to be so nasty about welcoming a new citizen."
"Sure," Aomine says and wrenches his tail out of Momoi's hands begrudgingly. "I hate to break it to you, Furihata, but you're not getting any favors from me if it's the girl you're after. Go find someone else to bother."
"Aomine-kun," Momoi warns, crossing her arms over her chest, against which the object that Furihata has been intrigued by is still pressed.
"Um." Furihata croaks and is unable to help the squeak in his voice when Aomine turns to him, ready to pounce and tear whatever is in his way to shreds. Aomine's stance, in spite of the laziness that seeps through his expression, is one that tells just how much confidence he has in himself to attack and emerge victorious. His strength is apparent in his hardened gaze, his toned forearms, and his large build. Furihata doesn't doubt the fact that Aomine could take him apart with just his eyes if ever he overcame his boredom.
Momoi perks up and prompts, "What is it, Furihata-kun?"
"It's just that," Furihata grabs the hilt of his weapon—what the Necromancer had called a sword earlier—and lets his fingers skim on the rough imprints on the metal. "Are the both of you even human?"
He's met with uncharacteristic silence until Aomine throatily laughs. Momoi follows in his fit soon after and clutches her stomach, creating a boisterous noise that only makes Furihata question his vocabulary choices.
Aomine shakes his head and chuckles. "Man, I can't believe there's someone far more ignorant than Bakagami is, considering he's established his own bracket of stupidity. Do you think humans have tails? I mean sure, the vertebrae stuff—"
"The coccyx," Momoi corrects him, placing a finger under her eyelids to collect the forming tears. She giggles. "Furihata-kun, I don't want to seem rude, but you've gone through the Necromancer as soon as you arrived, haven't you? Surely you must have concluded something by then."
Furihata bites the inside of his cheek. "…You're another species."
"Well, not exactly…" Momoi drifts off, her eyes lingering on the space behind Furihata. She suddenly raises a finger and exclaims, "Okay! This isn't exactly the thing we discuss about outside the city walls, so I'd suggest we talk about this over a cup of tea."
Aomine holds his hands up. "I'm not paying."
Momoi wrinkles her nose, patting the small pouch strapped to her waist. "I'm only letting you off this time, Aomine-kun." Tucking her object under her left arm and looping her right one around Furihata's arm, she marches forward, almost skipping, and says, "Alright, let's go, Furihata-kun!"
"Satsuki, hey—!"
Out of courtesy, Furihata glances back at Aomine apologetically, straining his neck while being dragged by Momoi to the heart of the city. He's met with a hiss and an unwilling stomp of feet behind him.
.
.
Chamomile tea is not supposed to be this invigorating.
Chamomile tea should come in powder form, its granules indistinguishable from little balls of paper infused with soothing drugs. It should be packed in one-liter bottles that immediately radiate with heat once water is added to the mix; this convenience is all thanks to the multi-million dollar companies that spend so much on research about the ways to trick people into believing that they're consuming tea rather than recycled thingamajigs that Furihata would rather not discover.
Chamomile tea shouldn't look like…this.
Chamomile tea shouldn't be served in cups and with—what did Momoi call them again? The browning things that appear very similar to the ones that he saw in the fields?
"Leaves," Momoi says, taking a sip of her tea and closing her eyes in appreciation of the aroma. When she opens them again, she casts Furihata a frown. "I'm worried about you, Furihata-kun. You probably don't even know half of the things that exist here."
Furihata sighs and puts his own cup down on the saucer. "…Considering I just arrived, Momoi-san, I think it's fair enough."
"Or you're just a blockhead," Aomine offers, chugging down a glass of ale (Furihata pumps his fist in his head, relieved that he could at least remember one thing that Momoi has been describing in detail for the past hour—or was it an hour?). Momoi elbows him in the ribs without subtlety, and he groans, "What? I'm just saying that humans have forgotten so much they became dumb in the process. Do you even know how to climb a tree?"
"What tree?" Furihata mumbles, fiddling with the scabbard of his sword under the table. "I mean, what is a tree?"
Aomine points to Furihata, exasperation painting his tone. "See? See? Great, we're talking to a guy with the mental age of a toddler."
Momoi shoots him a glare. "That's wonderful, Aomine-kun. Perhaps you can teach him, then, since you've got similar wavelengths." She dismisses Aomine's attitude and calls the attention of a server, asking to refill Furihata's cup with more tea. She stirs her tea with gentle flicks of her wrist and watches as the liquid forms concentric circles. "Sorry, Furihata-kun. Sometimes Aomine-kun just doesn't know how to control his mouth."
While Aomine spouts something that sounds similar to denial in the background, Furihata nods in understanding, unable to meet Aomine's gaze. "It's fine, Momoi-san. But, um, what exactly is a tree?"
The melody that Momoi hums is strangely familiar. "Do you remember the meadow where you ended up in?"
"Vaguely, yes," Furihata admits, recalling bright colors adorning the fields.
"Okay," Momoi cocks her head to the side and puts a finger to her lips. "Hmm, how do I put this…do you remember things that have brown, uh—"
"Stands?" says Furihata on impulse.
Aomine tries to rein in his laughter with furrowed eyebrows but fails, guffawing and nearly toppling his glass of ale from the table. Momoi's kick to his foot is audible with a painful crunch, and Furihata swallows, pretending that violence had not just transpired.
The crease on Momoi's forehead shows as she clasps her palms on the table. "Stands, that would work. Do they have green tops? Trees are kind of like lamps—it's hard to explain, but I think we're on the right track."
Furihata releases the hunch of his back and leans on his chair. "Oh, so those are trees."
What follows after the brief discussion of trees, flowers, leaves, birds, and other forms of life is a simple interrogation on Momoi's part. Furihata's head is already going in circles after the overview on the inhabitants of the Upper World. He can't help but smile when he remembers his session with the Administrators. The venue for his welcome in the Upper World is also reminiscent of the library whom he could have always been a stranger to if it had not been for the job posting—there is so much to see and learn about that he's not sure if his cranium is still intact.
Momoi and Aomine had led him under colorful canopies and through thick crowds, navigating through what they called the marketplace—"You probably called it a shopping center back then," Momoi had whispered, only confusing Furihata even more. He had looked for humongous screens displaying advertisements, but all he had heard were the yells of vendors, and all he had seen were various products being shoved into his face, none of which were familiar to him.
"I want to know more about you, Furihata-kun," Momoi says, not even aware that night has already fallen. She pokes Aomine's cheek when the male has fallen asleep, snoring comfortably on the table as if he is back in his own bed. Aomine grunts and resumes his slumber.
Furihata yawns, wincing at the burden that the heavy armor inflicts on his sagging shoulders. "Uh…where do you want me to start?"
"Mm, I don't know," Momoi replies thoughtfully. "I could ask you what your story is and you could tell me what you think your story is. You could tell me about how you came here, about your hobbies, your phobias…I really don't know where you should begin. The ball's in your court now."
Decision-making hasn't really been one of Furihata's strong suits, so he settles for his instinct. "W-well, the Aperture opened up for me. There were freakstorms all over my—their world, and I recently discovered that only a sacrifice could quell the Apocalypse."
Although Momoi's expression does not signify any of her expectations for him to continue, Furihata can't shelter and control the words falling from his mouth. "I have a…an impaired sister who's in high school." He exhales shakily for a minute before he notices that Momoi does not ask him what a high school is in spite of having none in this world. "Our parents died when we were little, and I dropped out of school to finance her education. Then this happened."
"She's all alone," Momoi quietly says, resting her chin on her palm.
"Not really, I guess," Furihata replies. "I have some friends whom I trust would take care of her. They're also the ones who told me all about the Aperture…but they were wrong in some accounts."
"Tell me, Furihata-kun," Momoi says in curiosity, "what is the Aperture?"
Furihata blinks in confusion. "I don't…it's the 'door' to your world, isn't it? The only wormhole through which I passed?"
"Oh," is Momoi's response accentuated with light laughter. "We don't really call it the 'Aperture' because it isn't that significant. And about the Apocalypse…it seems as if they've been lying about that to you, too—or they probably just mixed up the terminology."
Before Furihata can inquire further, Momoi stands up and hauls Aomine's arm with her. She blurts, "Ah, it's getting late! We should be heading back to our quarters. Aomine-kun, wake up already!"
Aomine makes a sluggish noise and tries to stand up on his own, knees nearly buckling underneath him. "Yeah, yeah," he waves his hand and rubs the sleep away from his eyes. He groggily stumbles out of the tavern and into the night, somehow maintaining his sense of direction despite his being half-asleep.
"W-wait, Momoi-san," Furihata exclaims, drowsiness fading away as he begins to realize the reality of his situation. Momoi turns to look at him in question. "I…I really don't have anywhere to sleep. And I didn't bring any money with me. I'm pretty much screwed."
"Don't worry about it!" Momoi chirps brightly. Furihata wonders how she is miraculously energetic in spite of how late it already is. Perhaps she's a hybrid of a nocturnal creature of some sort. "You see, everybody lives in a palace, free of charge. It's been our home for what seems like forever now."
"Oh."
"But since you're a newcomer," Momoi adds, "you'll have to register with the Court. The members keep tabs on all of the residents and are in charge of distributing supplies, clothing and meals included. I'm sure they'll be happy to see you. We haven't had a neophyte in ages."
"…Right." Surely the members of the aforementioned Court are as amicable as Momoi has been so far, Furihata thinks.
"It'd be best if I can accompany you, though. Akashi-kun can be…intimidating at times."
The mention of intimidation jerks Furihata out of his stupor. "I'm sorry? Who is 'Akashi-kun'?"
Momoi takes his hand and leads him away from the illuminated path—"Cobblestone," Momoi told him earlier—and towards fields that glow like the stars. Once they step foot on what this world's inhabitants named as the grass, the lights swarm around them, forming arrows that point to the direction of the palace.
"He's a friend from the Court," Momoi says, almost in affection, touching one of the creatures that guide them—fireflies. "One of the most important people you'll ever meet."
Furihata holds his index finger out and is surprised when a firefly lands on it, twinkling with fluttering wings. It looks so small and fragile yet capable of doing anything. "Are you…you know—"
Cupping her mouth, Momoi giggles in the midst of trudging towards the palace. "Oh, no, certainly not. But he really is one of the most significant people here. I imagine that it's only because of that fact that many are petrified in his presence."
"Why is he that important, then?" If 'Akashi' terrifies a huge number of the residents, then he must be another creature entirely, one that is even more threatening than Aomine. Perhaps he is a beast, or worse—
"For one," Momoi notes, huffing a little from their walk. "You could say that Akashi-kun is our king."
.
.
They say that there are some places that one is forbidden to venture to; the doors to these places are either haunting or tantalizing, depending on how a person handles the burden of not knowing what is beyond. Some bedtime stories are designed to separate dreams from reality, to discourage children from probing the unimagined. Storytellers tell them that they will be swallowed by darkness once they open the untouched doors. They whisper that there is nothing but despair awaiting them on the other side.
What they don't say is that there are worlds far more beautiful than theirs. There are worlds where modernity is traded for stagnancy and science for magic. Where elegance is not seen in the possession of the newest AIs but in red carpets and chandeliers.
Furihata's jaw goes slack the moment he enters the palace. Nobody told him about a world where words cannot suffice as descriptors.
"It's a perfect home, isn't it?" Momoi nudges his arm, the force not even enough to keep him from being aghast.
Pairs, enveloped in each other's arms, move about in perpetual circles, following the music that wafts across the large hall. Intricate golden embellishments adorn the walls and ceiling, with magnificent and regal red curtains framing wide windows. In the middle of the ballroom is a lustrous fountain that jets iridescent water. Creatures of all kinds, none of which Furihata could name in a heartbeat, hum along to the waltz.
There are pixies (Momoi might as well be a walking encyclopedia, what with all the knowledge she possesses) in gossamer gowns, wolves whose images flicker from dogs to men wrapped in fur, spirits that are ablaze or frozen, flowers that sing, giants that pluck candles from the cascading light fixtures. Some of those who are dancing are afloat, while some vanish into thin air to keep to themselves.
Furihata stammers, nearly stumbling on his feet at the sight. "W-wow. I've never seen anything like it."
Beside him, Momoi is already conversing with an older woman who twirls her fingers and produces a clock through what appears to be magic. Furihata opens his mouth in amazement, and Momoi thanks the woman and turns back to him.
"We only have a few minutes before the dance ends and everybody goes to sleep," Momoi informs and directs him to a long corridor to the right. She starts walking, motioning for Furihata to do the same although the latter's eyes are still plastered on the ballroom's occupants. "Furihata-kun!"
"Y-yes!" Furihata blurts, dashing towards Momoi in haste. "I'm sorry, I was just caught up in the dance that I—"
"It's fine, Furihata-kun," Momoi sighs. She drops the bound object in her arms—Furihata still hasn't queried it—and murmurs words from a different language. To Furihata's surprise, the object does not meet the floor—it disappears in a small void.
When she sees the shock register in Furihata's face, Momoi explains, "We can summon wormholes sometimes, but I can only make small ones because of my limited capacity for magic. I just transported my book—" Ah, so that's what it was, Furihata muses –"to my room. I've been foolish to have carried it all day."
"…I understand."
The atmosphere becomes unsettling as they approach the tall double doors at the end of the hallway. Upon scrutiny, the doors bear golden carvings of multiple stories blended into one canvas. An engraved snake binds the doors together, and when Momoi touches it, it slithers to the side and grants them passage.
Momoi strides to the center of the room easily. Furihata follows, but his ankles shake as soon as the doors shut close behind him.
"Satsuki, I'm surprised that you've come at this hour."
One of the many regrets that Furihata has is this: at the simple murmur of his new companion's name, he looks up from his feet and locks on the person on the throne who unclasps his hands and sets them on the armrest. Before he can discern what is happening, Furihata gasps as he's drawn towards the throne by an invisible force. He pants, his gaze fleeting across the person's face, until he finally gawks at his eyes.
Gold and crimson stare back at him. He should be used to cases of heterochromia by now, but his nerves are wracked by something else entirely and he trembles.
"I didn't know we had a newcomer, Satsuki," the ostensibly young owner of the eyes stands up from his throne and beckons Momoi to come closer. His lips are thinned into a smile, and his fingers curl into a fist, rising in the air. Furihata whimpers when the imperceptible force once again manipulates him by hoisting him up from the ground, and it is only then that he realizes that he has fallen on his backside earlier.
Much to Furihata's astonishment, Momoi easily steps forward and replies, "Ah, Akashi-kun, I didn't know that someone was supposed to come up here, either. I didn't hear anything prophesied in the past few days, let alone the past few years."
She clears her throat and further says, "Anyway, this is Furihata Kouki. Furihata-kun, meet Akashi-kun."
Furihata only swallows when Akashi turns to him and resumes his smile. His scarlet hair, under the lambent light, resembles the color of blood. There is nothing menacing about his appearance—in fact, he looks closest to being human with his seemingly normal features. The only thing that could set him apart from the people of the Lower World are his garments, which include a double-breasted suit and two flowers whose red and white blooms peek from his pocket.
Catchflies, a voice brushes against his ear. Furihata blinks, teeth still chattering.
"Is that so," Akashi remarks, thoroughly interested in the shivering sight before him. "It's my pleasure to meet you, Kouki. Your arrival is, admittedly, unprecedented."
Furihata nods vehemently to indicate his acknowledgement and to soothe his neurons gone haywire. Never mind that Akashi is already calling him on a first-name basis—he has more immediate concerns to deal with.
Akashi moves towards him in a calculated manner, his eyes observing. "Very well. Satsuki, you can leave us."
"Akashi-kun, before I go…I was hoping that the rest of the Court would be here to designate a room for Furihata-kun," Momoi says, her gaze flickering between Akashi and Furihata. Her expression softens in sympathy for Furihata's current state. "I hope that it wouldn't be too much trouble."
"There's no need to call them in the dead of the night," Akashi answers. "Since we haven't expected Kouki, there are no available rooms for him."
Furihata bites his lip to stifle the quiver that runs through it, and his right hand instinctively latches onto the hilt of his sword. His fear is irrational, a mistake that only the mind could have conceived; he fixes his sight on Akashi, who doesn't do so much as undergo a metamorphosis to become an overtly horrifying creature. Akashi simply talks and walks around.
"As such," Akashi says in finality, "Kouki will be staying in my chambers tonight. I'm afraid I cannot inconvenience any of the palace's residents without warning."
Momoi inadvertently utters, "Oh." She shakes her head to steer clear of any inappropriate thoughts and says, "Of course, Akashi-kun. I'll be leaving now." She bows politely and proceeds to the doors, closing them gently behind her. The room reverts to its quiescent state.
"W-what?" Furihata manages to exclaim in the midst of trying to regain his composure. "W-with due respect, I don't understand why I have to stay with you."
As if Furihata's statement has been drowned by his tremors, Akashi pays no heed and snaps his fingers. Furihata struggles to catch his breath as the world around him whirls, the interior of the throne room fading into gray as another location takes its place. Furihata falls on his knees when the motion comes to a halt.
He blinks back the tears forming in his eyes from the wind and stares open-mouthed at the change of surroundings. They're in the space between two four-poster beds that are placed in opposite ends of the capacious room. A fragrant scent drifts right under Furihata's nose, and he listens to the faint lulling music that has come from nowhere and is seemingly only there as an echo of what was there yesterday.
"It's far too late for any arguments," Akashi murmurs behind Furihata, startling the latter. He holds his hand out, intending to pull Furihata up without the use of his magic, but Furihata hesitates.
Akashi withdraws his hand and purses his lips. "You're peculiar, Kouki. There are so many things about you that do not seem right."
"N-no offense," Furihata falters, using one hand as a leverage to rise from the floor. He stands up and shifts from one foot to another, assaying the condition of his knees. "B-but I think I could say the same for you…Akashi-kun."
"None taken," Akashi says, walking past him and towards the cot on the left side of the room. His voice still rings clear in spite of the growing distance. "I intend to inquire further about your journey to our world, but that will be for tomorrow. You can rest for now."
Furihata bends his head in assent and begins treading heavily towards his own bed. The pauldrons press on his shoulder blades almost painfully, and his eyes widen in recognition of his dilemma. Furihata looks wildly at his environment as he pulls on the pieces of metal only to identify his attempts as futile. Halfway to his destination, he turns around rapidly and blurts, "Um, A-Akashi-kun, I may need your help."
Akashi has already changed into his sleepwear and is tucking himself in the covers. Still, he calls out, "What is it, Kouki?"
"…I have no idea how to remove this…thing," Furihata says rather asininely, but he corrects himself soon after, the Necromancer's lessons looming over his head. "Armor! I meant armor. Right. I-I don't know how to take these plates off."
He hears a sigh before magic knocks into him rapidly and replaces his gear with more comfortable pajamas. Instinctively, Furihata flails his arms to cover himself, but he realizes that Akashi is not looking at him.
"Rest well, Kouki," Akashi murmurs, his consciousness already slipping away. "Prepare for an interrogation in a few hours."
Although Akashi's eyes are already closed, Furihata nods, stuttering, "D-duly noted." He tiptoes towards his bed and slips under the covers as humanely silent as he could. The blankets still rustle under his fingertips, but Akashi does not stir.
He finds that he has never lay in a bed as comfortable as this before, and his thoughts wander toward questions about his sister's life without him. The throbbing of his throat begins again, and he forces it to stop, squeezing his eyes shut.
Eventually, Furihata's breaths even out, and he relaxes on the bed. Before he can doze off, he notices that the lights only went out when he has completely stopped squirming.
.
.
Cold.
Water.
Coldwatercoldwatercoldwatercoldwaterfreezing—
Furihata gasps and immediately regrets the mistake of letting the water fill his mouth.
The thing about nightmares is that you are aware that they are figments of imagination, yet you let them drag your senses away and plunge you deeper into the dark recesses of your mind. It is you who makes yourself vulnerable. You let yourself be willed by images that will never happen, almost as if you want to be taken away.
In this dream, Furihata does not surface for more than a minute. He strains to keep his eyes open, to keep himself awake in spite of the fact that he is asleep. He coughs and coughs and coughs, until shadows dance around the corners of his vision and the silhouette of a hand dips in the water.
He reaches for it and inhales, long and deep, just as he used to before.
Perhaps it is not a dream, after all. Perhaps it is a memory.
"You've come back," a familiar voice says, devoid of any emotion. Furihata's eyes flutter, and he grasps that he is no longer damp. He is dressed in his armor again, sitting in front of a coffee table. It's glass. There is a glinting metallic object resting on it.
Before he can reach for and examine it, a cold hand rests on his shoulder, startling him. Furihata looks back and catches a glimpse of the Necromancer.
Furihata stands up in an instant, and the interior of the Administrators' HQ vanishes.
The Necromancer steps forward, looking up at him. "You are here because I am delivering a message from the world you once knew."
Furihata opens his mouth, his head still swirling with confusion. "What do you mean…? I-it's not possible, right?"
"Furihata-kun," the Necromancer says, "do you know what a necromancer does?"
The question makes Furihata stagger backward. "…I suppose it's just a title. Someone to welcome entrants to your world…or something."
The Necromancer shakes his head. "A necromancer communicates with and hails the dead, only in our universe the role has been slightly altered." He flicks his wrist and they're back in Akashi's room, where Furihata can see himself on the bed, snoring softly. "This is real, Furihata-kun, and I assure you that you will remember this conversation as clear as a day."
In wonder, Furihata slowly pokes his sleeping self's foot, and he takes his finger back when he sees himself stir.
"As I was saying earlier," the Necromancer clears his throat, regaining Furihata's attention, "my role in this universe has been changed. I relay messages from the other world to this one, but inhabitants of this world can never be able to respond."
Furihata's breath hitches. "Why?"
The Necromancer shrugs. "I don't know. It has been that way for many millennia, and always will be."
They hover around Akashi's room, unseen, until the Necromancer speaks again. "We don't have much time left. You need to close your eyes to listen to the message."
Furihata does as he instructs, eager to hear his friends' voices again, until he remembers—he cannot hear his sister.
"Don't worry," the Necromancer assures him, ridding him of any unpleasant thoughts. "You won't just hear the message. You'll see the sender."
Once he calms down, he's thrust into a new landscape. Furihata jerks when the cold rain pelts his face, and he surveys the area until he sees Hyuuga on his knees, in front of a monument. Hyuuga is gripping the edges of what Furihata recognizes as the marble sculpture of his bust, and he recoils when he hears Hyuuga crying.
"You foolish brat," Hyuuga barks out, his fingers tracing the inscription beneath the sculpture. The hero of our ages, Furihata Kouki. "You goddamned foolish brat. Is this what you wanted, huh? You wanted to die so you can have your fucking pedestal?"
Furihata kneels beside him and tries to put his hand on his back. He flinches when he discovers that his hand sinks right through Hyuuga's figure.
"We don't always get what we want, but goddamn did you get what you wanted," Hyuuga laughs bitterly, his anger flaring through hiccups that can no longer be suppressed. Hyuuga withdraws his hand to muffle the sounds that come from his mouth, and he bites on his finger as he shakes violently.
All Furihata desires to do is make Hyuuga stop. All of the accusations falling from his lips do not matter—it is the fact that Hyuuga is sobbing for someone as unworthy as he is that has Furihata holding his head in his hands and wondering if it had been right to have left Hyuuga like this.
Hyuuga sniffs and wipes his red-rimmed eyes with his sleeves. "You know what? Fine. I understand. You think you have to save this world to think that you have even a tiny shrapnel of self-worth. Alright, I get it.
"What I don't get is how easy it was for you to say goodbye." Furihata shakes his head in denial, but Hyuuga does not look at him. "All those years I've been lying to you…it was all to keep you safe. You don't sacrifice yourself to save the world. They have to force you to kill yourself—at least that's what the records about the Aperture say. But you were always a special case, weren't you?"
Furihata furrows his eyebrows, unable to understand.
"Anyway," Hyuuga rasps, his voice hoarse. "I'm coming to accept it now. I think. I came here to say I'm sorry because the Hyuuga you had known was only half of the Hyuuga that lived. I'm sorry because I wasn't as great of a friend as I thought I was. It's funny when you think about it—I amount to nothing."
No, Furihata whispers. No, you don't.
"Suzume's safe now, if you're out there listening. Riko's taken her in and is homeschooling her. The rest of us are still pretty shaken up. Me? I'm fucked up, to say the least, in case it isn't obvious in the way I'm talking to a sculpture. Fucking brilliant, don't you think?
"But everything's okay. You'll be in the history books someday, believe me. And even if I want to beat you to a bloody pulp if you weren't already, I'm proud of you, Furihata. I just wish that I could've said it when you were still here."
Hyuuga's knees are wobbly when he gets up from the ground. He coughs twice before touching the sculpture. "I'm proud of you, kid. You'll be…you'll be back, someday."
He walks away, stumbling on his feet and getting back up again. Even from far away, his returning sobs are audible.
Furihata does not rise from the ground. He does not mind the wetness on his face, either.
.
The world spins again, the Necromancer's shadows swirling around him. Furihata buries his face in his hands, incapable of containing himself for any longer. The warmth of the Lower World is no longer there with him, and he seeks the fondness of home.
"It is not your home anymore," the Necromancer tells him, his hands still hanging by his sides. He does not offer the comfort of touch. "I am merely showing you those who wish to speak with you. I hope you wouldn't assume that you'd be able to return."
"…Why do you think I'm crying, Necromancer?" Furihata mumbles, finally getting a grip on himself now that the Necromancer has brought him back to his bleak cavern. When Furihata catches a glimpse of him, he sees that the Necromancer has drawn back at the sound of his label.
Furihata gazes at him in curiosity. "'Necromancer' isn't actually your name, is it?"
The Necromancer stares back at him, blue eyes hardened by unfeeling. "…No. Long ago…I was once what I am not now."
"Tell me, then," Furihata says softly. "I don't want to call you by something that you aren't."
"Necromancer is fine," the ghastly boy stiffly says.
"Your true name," Furihata insists.
"I don't remember it. It's been many eras since I last heard it."
"Please, Necromancer…I've been told many lies when I was still—" Alive, Furihata almost makes a slip –"in the Lower World. If there is anything that I don't miss, it's that."
The Necromancer eyes him silently. He is so young, so seemingly innocent—Furihata does not know how he could have existed for such a long time, or how he could have managed being alone, delving into the darkness without someone to guide him out of it.
Finally, the Necromancer says, "…It's Kuroko."
"K…Kuroko," Furihata echoes, the unfamiliar name rolling across his tongue. He forgets about Hyuuga momentarily and replies, "Kuroko…thank you. For telling me."
The Necromancer—no, Kuroko nods impassively, but there is a light in his eyes that wasn't there before. He presses two fingers to Furihata's forehead and says, "It's time to wake up, Furihata-kun."
Furihata involuntarily closes his eyes in this reality and opens them in another.
.
.
"Furihata-kun. Furihata-kun!"
The incessant calling of his name eventually rouses him from his sleep, and he ends up kicking his covers and whomever was waking him up. Furihata mumbles incoherently, looking around to focus his vision, and he sees a pixie pinching her nose.
"F-Furihata-kun," the pixie says in a nosey voice, still clutching her septum, "you're required at the baths in this instant."
Furihata immediately sits up and gasps at the pixie's condition. "I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do that, I just—"
"It's fine, Furihata-kun," the pixie mumbles in reassurance, waving his worry away with her tiny hands. "Midorima-kun is just around the corner, and I'm sure he'll patch me up in no time. Now, off you go!"
"U-um," says Furihata, who gets out of the bed and flinches as his feet touch the cold floor. "Let me accompany you to Mi…Midorima-kun, at the least."
The pixie shakes her head, the glitter falling from the twinkling strands of her hair. When Furihata peers under her cupped hand, he doesn't see any blood, and it provides him a little bit of relief. "No, no, Furihata-kun, it's fine—Akashi-kun will be furious if you don't appear on time!"
"I'm sure he'd…understand," Furihata tells her, neglecting the maybes that resound in his head. If anything, the chances of Akashi reprimanding him for having hurt a creature over whom he has jurisdiction would be much higher than the chances of Akashi berating him for his tardiness.
Still, he hides a quiver when he thinks about the prospect of testing Akashi's temper.
Furihata shrugs the thought away for now and holds his palm out for the pixie to perch on. "I'll take you to Midorima-kun, okay? I'm really sorry about accidentally hitting you, I was just surprised."
The pixie nods reluctantly at first, but she lands on Furihata's palm and sits, cross-legged. "…Once again, it's fine, Furihata-kun. But thank you."
.
After many turns around corners and wrong rooms entered, Furihata finally locates Midorima's clinic at the far side of the palace. He knocks on the door twice before deeming his entrance into the clinic as permitted. The pixie soon lies asleep on his palm, shedding glitter even in her unconsciousness.
"Midorima-kun…?" Furihata slowly walks towards the heart of the clinic. There are rows of bookshelves that filter the sunlight streaming in the window, and in the center of the room a glowing crystal floats. Furihata stares at it in amazement, blinking at the ever-changing colors of the crystal.
What perplexes him is the fact that he doesn't see any medical tools lying around the clinic. Although this world greatly differs from what was once his, there should be at least one instrument that he could recognize.
Before he could register the sound of approaching footsteps, Furihata hears someone say, "Is there anything I can help you with?"
Furihata whirls around and sputters, "I-I accidentally kicked a pixie while she was waking me up, and I think her nose is broken."
The man before him pushes his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, his peculiar green mane illuminated by the radiance of the sun. Even through his thick glasses, it is apparent that the man's eyes are beautiful.
"…Are you Midorima-kun?" Furihata inquires quietly, only now noticing the tape around the man's fingers. How odd, he muses. The man must have suffered from injuries on his hands.
"I am," the man affirms, stepping forward to examine the pixie lying on Furihata's palm. Midorima huffs and unravels the tape from his fingers. "You must've been so careless in your waking moments. I don't see how anyone could hurt somebody by simply being roused."
Furihata swallows and distracts himself with Midorima's fingers. To his surprise, his hands are without flaws. "I…I'm really sorry. She was waking me up and…I kind of had a dream. No, an encounter with the Necromancer." The name tastes foreign on his tongue now that Kuroko's proper introduction of himself has gone past.
"If she was waking you up, then the matter would have been urgent," Midorima says, reaching for the crystal. Furihata jumps back when the crystal begins to emit visible blue waves that coil around Midorima's arm. When the brightness subsides, the waves sink right in Midorima's skin.
Midorima's touch on the pixie's head is fleeting. "If the matter was urgent, then I believe that you should not be here concerning yourself with matters of less importance."
"…I had to see to it that the pixie was okay," Furihata meekly rebuts.
"It's a minor injury, nothing that requires a person of assistance," Midorima says. The pixie's eyes flutter when Midorima retracts his hands, and she leaps out of Furihata's palm, leaving remnants of glitter. "Akashi would be disappointed in your warped sense of priority. You are a newcomer, aren't you?"
Furihata opens his mouth in astonishment. "H-How did you…I mean, yes, I just arrived. If I run to the baths, I couldn't be that late. But, um, I don't really know where the baths are."
The sigh that he hears from Midorima is one of acquiescence with what seems to be Furihata's cluelessness. Furihata argues in the back of his mind that it's not his fault that he barely knows what to do in this uncharted world. "You'd best not be any tardier, then," Midorima says.
Midorima still hasn't rewound the tape around his fingers, but he presses on Furihata's forehead in the same way that Kuroko did when he sent Furihata back to his body. Before Midorima can send Furihata to another place, Furihata blurts, "A-Ah, I'm Furihata Kouki, by the way!"
"I know," Midorima replies, unperturbed. "It's a…pleasure to meet you."
Furihata is about to say the same, but a brilliant flash of light pierces his eyes.
Just like that, he disappears.
.
"You're late."
Furihata stumbles face-first into the water and emerges soon after, coughing up the liquid that he unintentionally swallowed. When he's finished heaving, he steers clear of the droplets on his eyelids and looks up at Akashi's figure.
Akashi is in his robes, imperial gold threads sown into the side to resemble wings. He wipes off the water that was splashed on his cheek. "I believe I sent someone to tell you that you are needed here."
"I-I'm sorry," Furihata keeps his head down to signify that he has quite a bit of shame left. His main reason, however, is that he intends to avoid Akashi's gaze to make himself less of a fool. "I h-had to bring her to the infirmary—"
He's hushed when Akashi summons a message written on air. "Your apology is not necessary. Shintarou notified me of your…detour. I may need to talk to Tetsuya about your schedule. We wouldn't want your duties to overlap with other activities."
When Akashi is greeted with silence, he waves his hand to dissipate the message. "You might know Shintarou as the Healer, and Tetsuya as the Necromancer."
Tetsuya? Even Akashi knows Kuroko's first name. Furihata doesn't seem to be very surprised since Akashi governs this world. If he were Akashi, he'd be damned if he couldn't memorize the names of this world's inhabitants.
But he could never be Akashi. Judging by his condition now, it wouldn't be far-fetched to assume that Furihata would eternally remain terrified of Akashi's mere presence.
"Do you recall what I said about you?" Akashi inquires, silently observing Furihata.
The brunet frowns and in turn reddens at the fact that he just scowled in front of Akashi. If possible, he would incinerate himself to avoid displeasing Akashi more. "I-I don't."
Tucking his hands into the sleeves of his robes, Akashi says, "You should know when to correct me, Kouki. I apologize for not being specific. I told you that you were…peculiar, to which, if I recall correctly, you responded with a statement about how we are alike in our sentiments toward each other."
Prompted by Akashi's stare, Furihata stammers, "Y-yes. You're right."
"Don't take my words lightly," Akashi advises him, his expression turning sour at Furihata's continuous tacit assent. At this, Furihata swallows, wanting nothing but to evaporate as soon as he can to escape the unmistakable glare that Akashi is sending in his direction.
"I-I don't," Furihata says in what he already calls an act of defiance. He still hasn't gained the capacity to lose his stutter while conversing with Akashi, but his exhaustion from trembling in front of the Upper World's king is slowly catching up to him. The pent-up frustration from his fear is taunting him to stand up to Akashi, but he doubts that he would last a second.
Akashi's gaze softens. "I can see you're trying to improve your speech, and I commend you for that. But let's put that issue behind for now; I want you to know why you are, in every sense of the word, special."
When Akashi smiles at him, Furihata senses the heat spread across his cheeks. The fact that he turns pale in Akashi's company doesn't help his cause—he can discern that Akashi smiles even more at the sight of the red tint that easily became apparent on his face. In the corners of his mind, he blames Akashi for not using a synonym that is less flattering than what he had uttered.
"As I was saying," Akashi says, "you are…different because you were never meant to come here, and you were never supposed to be what you are now."
"How…how so?" Furihata nearly states a perfect sentence, but he shivers due to his prolonged stay in the water. Akashi must have noticed—he offers his hand to help Furihata up, his look very much expectant. Wordlessly, Furihata decides to take it, every bit triumphant at his milestone, and sighs inwardly at Akashi's warmth.
Akashi steadies Furihata as soon as he gets dragged back to the shore. As Akashi conjures a cloth for him, Furihata looks around his surroundings. He and Akashi are alone on the fringe of land beside a lake, but his captivation by the crystal clear waters and the wildlife that thrive in them overwhelms his anxiety around the odd-eyed redhead.
"Kouki, here," Akashi hands him a woven beige shawl, and he nods in gratitude. When he has rubbed his sides enough to have accumulated a considerable and comfortable amount of warmth, Akashi speaks again. "Let me ask you a question, so as not to let myself be the only one who's engaged in this conversation. What exactly did you do to get here?"
"What…did I do?" Furihata repeats, letting Akashi's words sink in for a minute. He wraps the shawl around him tighter. "I…T-There was an Apocalypse in my—their world, and my friends and I gleaned that the only way to stop it was to sacrifice someone."
"And you volunteered?"
"And I volunteered," Furihata affirms, ducking his head. Strangely enough, he doesn't take pride in the fact that he is now recognized as his previous world's savior. He still feels hollow.
It is then that Akashi murmurs, "Only those who are coerced into giving their lives are permitted to enter this world. You should never have been given a choice in your death."
A breeze blows across the stretch of the shore, following a haphazard route in the atmosphere and making the waters dance. Furihata suppresses the tremor of his hands and says, "W-what do you mean, 'coerced'?"
"I'll leave it at that at the moment," Akashi replies tersely. "For now, I'll orient you with our whereabouts. Do you know where we are now?"
"…No."
Akashi hums in satisfaction. "Exactly. Before I tell you the purpose of our visit to this lake, however, I'll ask you one more thing, if that would be alright."
Furihata discreetly says, "Mm. That would be…no problem."
"What do you want the most?"
In the horizon, the sound of feathers rustling against each other serves as the accompaniment for the crashing of waves against the rocks.Seagulls, Furihata recalls Momoi telling him about some animals that roam the Upper World. Furihata remembers asking her how they never got lost, and she laughed, saying that they have their own ways of navigating the world, unlike humans who still wander even in the company of their maps and compasses.
The question catches Furihata off-guard, and he fleetingly thinks that he is still human for feeling so lost. "W-what?" He flails his arms in realization of his mistake and accidentally lets go of the shawl. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be disrespectful—"
"Kouki, don't fret," Akashi's voice is soothing albeit the power that emanates from it. "What is one thing that you desire above everything else?"
Pondering over the several options that he has for an answer would presumably only make his head hurt and confound him. Furihata goes with his instinct and responds, "I…want to be with my sister. I want to watch her grow up."
Akashi's stare gives away his perusal of Furihata's reply.
"You're lying."
Furihata is taken back by Akashi's statement. "E…Excuse me?"
"You're lying," Akashi iterates, emphasizing each syllable. The ends of his robes flutter along the wind.
"I'm not," Furihata protests, his fear of Akashi being overpowered by another emotion yet again. He takes his time to discover what it is, and he's confronted with something that he isn't entirely familiar of.
He's angry.
"H-how would you know, Akashi-kun?" he exclaims, not bothering to cover his breaking voice. His fists are trembling at his sides, and he can't control the tears welling in the corners of his eyes. "How would you know?"
Akashi remains unbothered by Furihata's outburst. "Because your desire is what this world is for. Whatever you wish for is this world's answer to you. Do you know why you were dressed in armor when you arrived?"
When Furihata does not speak, Akashi continues, "Armors were worn by humans long before your time to protect themselves in battle. Armors belonged to those who were trained to kill and schooled in the art of war. In humans' perspective, war is where the cowards and the heroes are determined."
Furihata exhales shakily, the color draining from his face as Akashi says, "Now, Kouki—what do you think you want the most?"
In spite of the cold sea breeze, his palms perspire. "I—"
"Say it," Akashi commands him, his expression almost apathetic. "Don't hesitate to tell me, in all honesty."
Furihata swallows audibly. His bones are rattling inside him. "I," he starts, "I…I don't want to be afraid anymore. I want to have courage, at least once."
"Good," is the only thing that Akashi says despite the audacity that Furihata's disclosure required. Furihata should be offended that one of his secrets has been easily brushed off by Akashi as unimportant—he surprisingly isn't. "Now, tell me: are you afraid of me, Kouki? Are you still quivering when I am around?"
The brunet furrows his eyebrows in confusion. "I-I am. Akashi-kun, what exactly are you talking about?"
Akashi's lips thin into a line, and displeasure taints Akashi's features. "I hope that you are trying to understand what I am insinuating, and that you are starting to think for yourself rather than having everybody else tell you what it is that you should think about."
"I…I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing," Akashi remarks and fixes the collar of his robes. "I will let you off this time. What I'm saying is, you are peculiar because you haven't fully received what you want yet. That has never happened before…with the exception of a single instance."
From the way Akashi says it, Furihata can assume that the statement does not warrant another question. Furihata blinks and sputters in disbelief instead. "I'm…I'm a mistake of the universe?"
"Fate likes to toy with us," Akashi says, bitterness lacing his voice. "I wouldn't say that you're the first to have been played with."
The water reaches Furihata's ankles when it washes off the shore, and he does not show interest in the grains of sand that have lodged themselves in his toenails. He looks up at Akashi—rather, he forces himself to look at Akashi, to stare him in the eyes, to prove that he could at least do this amidst all of the others that he couldn't.
"You said something about…coercion and death and how I was never meant to be let in your world," Furihata slowly says, as if savoring the words he could utter in front of Akashi. In truth, he is treading foreign waters, and he isn't sure if he has been granted the freedom to ask what he wishes to know. "Akashi-kun…I-I'm pushing my luck here, but what else makes me unworthy of being here?"
The demand in his tone brings about a noticeable difference in Akashi's expression, but Akashi does not bat an eye. Now that Furihata examines Akashi's face thoroughly, he sees a boy who is far too young to have been appointed as king. Perhaps they are of the same age—no matter what similarities Furihata finds between them, it still feels as though they are worlds apart.
Akashi raises his chin and says, "This lake is meant to cleanse you of anything distinctly human you have left inside of you. Your blood will be taken away, but you will still function. Two things that you will get to maintain is your memory and part of your physical form. It will stay with you for as long as you exist in this world."
Furihata opens his mouth to ask him how the lake has anything to do with his previous question, but just as he is about to deliver his first syllable, Akashi pinches something invisible in the air and drags it along. Furihata gasps when he realizes that his mouth has been magically sewn shut.
"You are to be rid of anything that humans have used to corrupt you," Akashi declares, "and you will be stripped of your identity as a human because humans do not deserve you. The requirement to enter this world of dreams and immortality is to die."
Still struggling, Furihata attempts to pry his lips open with his own hands, and he stumbles back when they open on their own accord. "I died," he utters, wide-eyed. "I died, Akashi-kun."
"Yes, you died," Akashi says. His face looks grim. "But you sacrificed yourself. In order to enter this world, you shouldn't have offered your life. You should have been murdered."
.
.
to be continued